LIBRARY 

.ITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


7 


Clara  iotttse  38tttnl)am 


HEARTS'  HAVEN.  Illustrated  by  Helen  Mason  Grose. 

INSTEAD  OF  THE  THORN.     With  frontispiece. 

THE  RIGHT  TRACK.     With  frontispiece  in  color. 

THE  GOLDEN   DOG.     Illustrated  in  color. 

THE  INNER  FLAME.     With  frontispiece  in  color. 

CLEVER  BETSY.    Illustrated. 

FLUTTERFLY.     Illustrated. 

THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.    With  frontispiece  in  color. 

THE  QUEST  FLOWER.     Illustrated. 

THE  OPENED   SHUTTERS.      With  frontispiece  in 

color. 

^JEWEL:  A  CHAPTER    IN    HER    LIFE.     Illustrated. 
JEWEL'S    STORY  BOOK.     Illustrated. 
THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS. 
MISS  PRITCHARD'S  WEDDING  TRIP.  ^ 
YOUNG  MAIDS  AND  OLD. 
DEARLY  BOUGHT. 
NO  GENTLEMEN. 
A  SANE   LUNATIC. 
NEXT  DOOR. 

THE  MISTRESS  OF  BEECH  KNOLL. 
MISS  BAGG'S  SECRETARY. 
DR.  LATIMER. 

SWEET  CLOVER.      A  Romance  of  the  White  City. 
THE  WISE  WOMAN. 
MISS  ARCHER  ARCHER. 
A  GREAT  LOVE.    A  Novel. 
A  WEST  POINT  WOO  ING,  and  Other  Stories. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


HEARTS'  HAVEN 


Pt 


HEARTS' 


A  NOVEL 

EY 
CLARA  LOUISE  BURNHAM 

With  Illustrations 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

press  Cambrib0e 
1918 
LIBRARY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


COPYRIGHT,   1918,   BY  CLARA  LOUISE  BURNHAM 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  October  iqi8 


TO  M.  R.  K. 

DEAR  SISTER  AND  DEARER  FRIEND 

I  OFFER  THIS  STORY  OF 

HER  NAMESAKE 


CONTENTS 

I.  MAY  CA'LINE         .      .      •      .      •       •      •      .       I 
II.  THE  YOUNG  COUPLE    .       .      .       .       .       .       .11 

III.  MRS.  BERRY'S  ADVICE 19 

IV.  A  TETE-A-TETE  SUPPER 27 

V.  THE  FLITTING 40 

VI.  THE  REVELATION 50 

VII.  THE  SECRETARY 58 

VIII.  ADAM  BREED          70 

IX.  OVERTURES 80 

X.  AT  EVENING 84 

XL  THE  CERTAIN  ONE 92 

XII.  ROSE  LEDGE 101 

XIII.  WILLIS  FROTHINGHAM 113 

XIV.  THE  RIDDLE 122 

XV.  HETTY'S  LETTER 128 

XVI.  MRS.  CHETWYN 137 

XVII.  TREASURE  ISLAND  k  • 148 

XVIII.  IN  THE  LIMOUSINE 163 

XIX.  TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER 175 

XX.  A  DRAMATIC  MOMENT  .  V  .  .  .  .  192 
XXI.  EVOLUTION  .  .  .  *  .  .  .  .  .  204 
XXII.  A  TEA-PARTY  *  .  *  .  .  .  .  .  218 

XXIII.  AT  SUNSET  .  228 


viii  CONTENTS 

XXIV.  AT  THE  SEA       >      .'/     •      •      .      •      .243 
XXV.  AUGUST       V     ,..,'•  ,      .      » •    ,.      .      .       .  259 

XXVI.    A  HOUSEWARMING       ...         .         .         .         .    273 

XXVII.  MAY  CA'LINE  ENTERTAINS     .      .      .      .       .286 

XXVIII.  BY  THE  BROOKSIDE   .      » 301 

XXIX.  THE  CONQUEROR       .      .      .      .      .      .      .317 

XXX.  MOONLIGHT         .      , 335 


ILLUSTRATIONS 
MAY  CA'LINE Frontispiece 

"  I  WISH  YOU  WOULD  N*T  DRESS  THE  CHILDREN,  PLEASE  "       60 
"  I  KNEW  YOU  HAD  A  NICE  MOTHER "       .         ,         ,  '       .         .    IO8 

"HAPPY    ENOUGH    TO     FORGET    SOME    OF    THOSE    YEARS 
WHEN     I     SHOULD     HAVE     LOOKED    AFTER   YOU,    AND 

1   .     .     V    •      .  3°6 


HEARTS'  HA  FEN 


CHAPTER  I 

MAY  CA'LINE 

THE  Leacock  Post  Office  was  in  Simon  Berry's 
store,  and  his  wife,  Martha,  being  the  close  friend 
of  Hetty  Woodward,  the  postmistress,  frequently  re 
mained  after  the  mail  was  distributed  for  a  chat  with  her 
crony. 

To-day  Mrs.  Berry's  plump  face  was  clouded  as  she 
approached  the  wiry  Hetty,  who  was  brushing  back  her 
gray  elf-locks  in  the  calm  of  duty  performed,  and  chew 
ing  gum  with  nervous  energy. 

"Did  you  see  how  bad  May  Ca'line  looked  as  she 
went  out  just  now?"  she  asked. 

"First  time  you  noticed  it?" 

"Yes;  I  have  n't  seen  her  for  quite  a  spell.  What's 
the  matter  with  her,  Hetty?" 

"Hungry,  for  one  thing,  I'm  pretty  sure.  She  owes 
Simon  a  good  big  bill  now,  and  she  don't  ask  any  more 
credit;  and  the  work  that's  been  comin'  to  her  from  the 
Woman's  Exchange  in  the  city  has  stopped,  and  yes 
terday  there  come  a  long  envelope  for  her  and  when  she 
saw  the  business  firm's  name  up  in  the  corner  she  turned 
white  as  a  cloth.  I  tell  you,  May  Ca'line 's  had  it  hard 
for  the  whole  seven  years  since  her  husband  died,  and  I  'd 
like  to  take  her  boy  Joe  and  shake  him  till  every  one 
of  his  teeth  chattered." 

"Hungry,  Hetty!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Berry,  sinking 


2  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

upon  a  stool  opposite  where  Miss  Woodward  held  the 
floor  on  her  own  side  of  the  counter. 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  and  somebody 'd  ought  to  tell  that 
selfish  cub  of  a  Joe  —  goin'  to  the  city  and  saddlin' 
himself  with  a  wife  and  children  before  he  was  hardly 
out  o'  creepers  and  hardly  ever  writin'  to  his  mother. 
His  sister  Amy  'way  off  there  in  California  never  does. 
I  tell  you,  Martha,  for  the  village  beauty  May  Ca'line 
made  a  mighty  poor  end.  I'll  bet  there's  been  many  a 
day  when  she's  wished  she'd  married  the  other  feller." 

"Who?" 

"Adam  Breed.  Don't  you  remember  how  crazy  he 
was  about  her?  And  he  was  n't  any  village  carpenter 
either.  He  was  one  o'  the  up-and-comin'  kind." 

"But  May  Ca'line  did  right  to  marry  the  man  she 
loved,"  pleaded  Martha. 

"How  do  you  know  Joseph  was  the  one?  She  was 
engaged  to  him  before  she  ever  saw  Adam.  Poor  thing, 
I  was  thinkin'  to-day  how  pretty  she  is  yet,  even  though 
she  looks  so  thin  and  kind  o'  wrinkly." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Martha.  "  It  beats  all  how  it  does  help 
in  all  the  seven  ages  o'  man  to  have  curly  hair,  and 
hers  is  as  coppery  as  ever  it  was,  while  you  and  I  are 
turnin'  gray."  Mrs.  Berry  was  silent  for  a  thoughtful 
moment.  "You  know  I  can't  get  it  through  my  head, 
Hetty.  May  Ca'line 's  always  been  such  a  gay  thing, 
and  such  a  one  to  see  the  funny  side  of  everything." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  o'  the  thing  they  call  blu/?" 
returned  Hetty  dryly.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  o'  folks  that 
was  game  ?  Those  two  words  hit  off  May  Ca'line  as  slick 
as  a  button;  but  she  pretty  near  went  down  under  what 
ever  was  in  that  envelope  yesterday  and  she  had  n't 
got  over  it  to-day." 


MAY  C A9 LINE  3 

"Hungry,"  repeated  Martha  again  as  if  to  herself. 
"Good-bye,  Het,  I  must  be  off,"  she  added,  rising  and 
leaving  the  store. 

As  fast  as  her  comfortable,  stout  figure  could  accom 
plish  it  she  walked  home;  and  after  a  few  moments  spent 
in  her  kitchen,  left  the  house  and  turned  in  the  direction 
of  her  old  friend's  home.  May  Ca'line's  was  a  cottage 
of  generous  size,  but  its  unpainted,  neglected  look  had 
never  impressed  Mrs.  Berry  so  fully.  It  was  the  common 
lot  in  Leacock  to  be  poor.  The  decline,  and  almost  fall, 
of  the  dead  carpenter's  house  had  come  gradually,  and 
his  widow  had  always  had  a  way  of  deflecting  sympathy 
or  criticism,  and  inducing  a  factitious  atmosphere  of  well- 
being  about  herself  and  the  visitor,  whoever  it  might  be, 
that  distracted  attention  from  her  lacks. 

As  Martha  Berry  stood  a  minute  by  the  gate,  no 
ticing  that  one  rusty  hinge  was  paired  with  a  scrap  of 
flannel  nailed  on  to  prevent  the  rickety  affair  from  sag 
ging  hopelessly,  she  reflected  on  the  lonely  occupant 
of  the  cottage  and  of  the  years  of  her  loneliness. 

"But  a  body  can't  think  of  May  Ca'line  as  lonely 
somehow,"  she  muttered.  "She's  a  kind  of  a  witch." 

She  opened  the  gate  and  went  up  the  well-weeded 
garden  path  to  the  peeling  door  and  knocked. 

If  she  had  not  known  that  her  old  friend  was  inca 
pable  of  fear,  she  would  have  said  the  slender  face  which 
now  appeared  around  the  edge  of  the  slowly  opening 
door  expressed  alarm,  from  the  large  gray  eyes,  whose 
drooping  corners  had  been  so  attractive  in  their  owner's 
youth,  to  the  half-parted,  trembling  lips. 

"Why,  it's  you,  Martha!"  said  Mrs.  Laird,  in  a  tone 
which  certainly  betokened  relief,  as  she  flung  wide  the 
door. 


4  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"  Well,  who  did  you  think  it  was?"  asked  Mrs.  Berry. 

"I  thought"  —  May  Ca'line  assumed  a  gay  air  of 
mystery  —  "I  thought  —  you  might  be  —  a  man!  " 

"Since  when  was  you  afraid  of  a  man?"  inquired  the 
visitor,  her  passing  suspicion  already  swamped  in  the 
good-cheer  of  the  wide  gray  eyes. 

"Oh,  me  in  my  wrapper,"  answered  the  other,  indi 
cating  her  faded  clean  calico.  "Before  you  come  in, 
Martha,  I  want  you  to  look  at  my  pansies.  Have  you 
seen  any  bigger  ones  anywhere?" 

Mrs.  Berry  turned  to  view  the  orderly  flower  beds 
on  each  side  of  the  neatly  weeded  path. 

"They're  lovely,"  she  answered,  "and  your  gera 
niums,  too.  You're  a  kind  of  a  witch,  May  Ca'line.  I 
was  saying  it  to  myself  as  I  came  in  the  gate.  Flowers 
grow  for  you  better  than  they  will  for  anybody  else." 

"If  I  was  a  witch  I'd  have  a  lawn-mower,"  said  the 
other,  looking  at  the  rank  or  withered  grass  which 
covered  the  rest  of  her  yard,  accordingly  as  it  was  in 
sun  or  shade.  "I'd  have  a  hose  and  a  lawn-mower  be 
sides  my  watering-pot  and  scissors.  I  will,  too,  when 
my  ship  comes  in."  The  little  nod  with  which  the  dec 
laration  was  accompanied  was  the  spontaneous,  quick 
gesture  of  her  girlhood.  The  waves  of  her  auburn  hair 
were  but  lightly  streaked  with  gray;  but  her  face,  in 
the  midday  light,  showed  woefully  thin  and  lined. 

"I  guess  you  work  too  hard  out  in  the  sun,"  said  Mrs. 
Berry,  as  they  went  into  the  house.  "You  can't  afford 
to  get  any  thinner,  May  Ca'line.  You  make  me  feel  like 
a  great  porpoise." 

Mrs.  Berry  sank  into  a  hair-cloth  rocker  that  had 
burst  in  lines  which  showed  gray,  and  placed  on  the 
floor  beside  her  a  bundle.  As  her  hostess  threw  open 


MAY  C A' LINE  5 

the  blinds  the  caller  cast  a  hasty  glance  around  the 
sitting-room.  Everything  was  ragged,  in  spite  of  re 
peated  darnings.  Poverty  seemed  to  cry  out  from 
each  old  chair  and  the  threadbare  rugs  on  the  broken 
matting. 

"I  keep  the  sun  out  all  the  time  I'm  not  using  this 
room,"  said  Mrs.  Laird,  "  but  I  don't  like  darkness  better 
than  light  when  I  have  good  company." 

"  Simon  could  n't  come  home  to  supper  to-day,"  said 
Mrs.  Berry,  "so,  thinks  I,  I'll  take  a  little  holiday  and 
run  over  to  May  Ca'line's." 

It  was  a  direct  challenge  to  rural  hospitality.  The 
hostess  had  no  alternative  to  replying  cordially:  "Then 
you'll  have  your  supper  with  me.  Take  your  things 
right  off." 

But  Mrs.  Laird  did  not  speak  at  once.  Her  sensitive 
lips  tightened  instead  of  opening,  for  an  appreciable  in 
stant.  The  caller  felt  such  a  twinge  of  mingled  compas 
sion  and  embarrassment  that  the  warmth  of  the  summer 
day  seemed  suddenly  doubled  and  her  plump  face  grew 
scarlet. 

"I'll  just  throw  off  my  shawl,  if  you  don't  mind, 
May  Ca'line.  I  walked  pretty  brisk  and  I'm  just  about 
melted." 

"Why,  of  course,  Martha,  and  here's  a  palm-leaf 
fan."  The  hostess  rose  and  seized  it  from  the  wooden 
mantelpiece.  ''You'll  cool  off  in  a  minute.  There's  a 
real  good  draught  through  this  room;  and  did  you  ever 
think  how  beautifully  Nature  arranges  the  sun  for  us?" 
she  added  admiringly.  "All  winter  how  it  streams  in  our 
south  windows,  and  in  summer,  when  we  don't  want  it, 
how  it's  lifted  right  up  into  the  middle  of  the  sky  out 
of  the  way  of  the  windows?" 


6  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Well,  that's  so,"  agreed  Mrs.  Berry.  "I  don't  know 
as  I  ever  thought  of  it  before." 

She  was  fanning  herself  vigorously  and  avoiding  the 
eyes  in  the  thin  face  regarding  her,  the  face  that  had 
looked  so  startled  a  few  minutes  ago. 

''  You  look  as  if  you  'd  been  kind  o'  slack  in  catering 
for  yourself,"  she  responded.  "You  need  some  one  to 
look  after  you,  May  Ca'line." 

"Oh,  don't  mind  me,  Martha,  I'm  always  thin  in 
summer.  It's  all  the  style,  anyway,  you  know,"  said 
the  other  with  her  most  nonchalant  air. 

"H'm,"  responded  Mrs.  Berry.  "What  do  you  hear 
from  Amy?" 

Mrs.  Laird  laughed  and  sighed.  "  Whatever  put  Amy 
into  your  head?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  'a  daughter's  a  daughter  all  her  life,'  you 
know,"  suggested  Mrs.  Berry. 

"Yes,  if  you've  taught  her  to  be  a  good  letter-writer. 
I  don't  hear  very  often." 

"And  Joe,"  pursued  Martha  Berry  grimly.  "'A  son 
is  a  son  till  he  gets  him  a  wife.'  What  do  you  hear  from 
Joe?" 

The  thin  cheeks  were  much  flushed  by  this  time, 
but  their  owner  laughed  and  tossed  her  auburn  waves 
airily.  "  Dear  me,  Martha,  you  've  come  over  in  a  real 
catechizing  mood,  have  n't  you  ?  Joe  is  all  right,  so  far 
as  I  know.  I  suppose  he  has  to  scratch  gravel  pretty 
busily  for  the  wife  and  two  children.  You  know  men 
never  do  write  letters  much,  anyway;  not  any  more 
than  they  can  possibly  help." 

The  speaker  clasped  her  needle-pricked  hands  hard 
together,  and  her  eyes  looked  very  bright.  "To  tell  the 
honest  truth,  Martha,  I  wish  you'd  had  your  supper 


MAY  C A9 LINE  7 

first  and  then  come  over  to  see  me,  just  because  I  am 
so  slack.  You  know  it's  such  a  temptation  to  picnic 
when  you're  alone." 

"Why,  I  eat  too  much,  anyway,  May  Ca'line.  Don't 
worry  about  me.  Just  let  me  have  whatever  you're 
goin'  to  have.  It's  too  hot  to  eat  much  to-day.  A  cup 
o'  tea  and  some  bread  and  butter  and  cold  meat  is 
supper  enough  on  a  day  like  this." 

Mrs.  Laird  bit  her  lip.  "Oh,  Martha,  don't  tell  any 
body  how  careless  I  am.  I  have  n't  been  making  bread 
lately  because  it  did  n't  seem  worth  while  for  only  one, 
and  I  have  n't  bought  any  to-day.  I  'm  so  ashamed  I 
have  n't  any  to  offer  you." 

"May  Ca'line," — Mrs.  Berry's  eyes  snapped,  —  "  what 
did  you  have  for  dinner?" 

"  Catechizing  again."  Mrs.  Laird  laughed,  but  her 
lips  trembled.  "  Did  n't  I  tell  you  that  I  just  pick  up  ?" 

As  she  spoke  the  last  word  the  sound  of  the  gate 
opening  and  closing  with  a  loud  bang  came  through  the 
open  window. 

The  widow's  face  blanched  and  as  she  sprang  from 
her  place  her  hands  pressed  quickly  over  her  heart. 

"Who's  that!"  she  exclaimed. 

Mrs.  Berry's  chair  commanded  the  window. 

"It  was  just  some  children,"  she  replied.  "A  boy 
passed  the  gate  and  slammed  it  as  he  passed.  Could  n't 
think  of  anything  more  mischievous  to  do,  I  sup 
pose." 

Mrs.  Laird  sank  back  in  her  chair,  but  kept  her  hands 
on  the  heart  that  threatened  to  escape. 

"May  Ca'line,"  said  Mrs.  Berry  quietly,  "tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"About  what?" 


8  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"I  never  did  you  a  mean  trick  in  my  life,  and  I  never 
will.  You've  got  to  confide  in  somebody.  Take  me." 

"There's  nothing  you  can  do  to  help  me,  Martha." 
The  life  had  gone  out  of  the  pale  face  and  the  gray  eyes 
were  suddenly  heavy  and  spiritless. 

"Perhaps  I  can.  You've  put  the  best  foot  forward  all 
your  life  and  enough's  enough." 

"I  have  n't —  any  best  foot — any  more,"  said  May 
Ca'line.  Her  slight,  drooping  figure  lifted  and  she 
looked  despairingly  at  her  old  friend.  "There  don't 
seem  to  be  any  place  for  me  in  the  world  any  more, 
Martha,"  she  said  simply.  "After  my  husband's  death 
it  seemed  necessary  to  mortgage  the  house,  and  —  and 
I've  stood  it  off  as  long  as  I  could,  but  —  I  got  the 
notice  yesterday.  They're  going  to  foreclose  and  I've 
got  to  go  —  and  where,  Martha,  where  in  the  world  can 
I  go?" 

"To  Joe,  of  course,"  returned  Mrs.  Berry  sharply. 
The  slight  figure  and  appealing  face  pulled  at  her  heart 
strings.  It  was  unthinkable  that  May  Ca'line 's  gay 
defenses  could  all  come  down  and  reveal  a  tragic  spirit. 
"Where  should  a  woman  go  but  to  her  boy?  Joe  Laird 
ain't  a  monster.  Seem's  if  you  couldn't  have  been 
honest  with  him." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  have  been  honest.  I  don't  think  I  'm 
very  honest  with  anybody,  Martha.  I  could  n't  be." 

The  slender  fingers  knotted  together  and  the  voice 
trembled. 

"Well,  it's  come  to  where  you've  got  to  be,  May 
Ca'line.  You  see  that,  don't  you?" 

The  other  nodded.  "Oh,  yes.  I  wrote  him  last  night. 
It  was  terribly  hard,  because  they  don't  want  me,  and 
I've  thought  and  thought  if  there  was  anything  else 


MAY  C A9 LINE  9 

I  could  do,  but  there  does  n't  seem  to  be.  People  don't 
even  need  you  to  scrub  for  them  here." 

"How  can  you  be  so  sure  those  young  folks  don't 
want  you?"  Mrs.  Berry  tried  to  speak  comfortingly. 
She  longed  to  take  her  old  friend  to  her  own  home,  but 
she  knew  Simon  would  not  consent  and  her  heart  ached 
at  the  sight  of  the  tearless  eyes  and  the  starved  body 
that  had  made  such  a  long  and  gallant  fight. 

"Oh,  I  know,  Martha,"  was  the  sad  reply.  "I  know 
only  too  well.  Things  have  been  harder  and  harder  for 
a  long  time  and  I  Ve  thrown  out  hints  when  I  was  writ 
ing,  but  Joe  never  took  them.  I  think  perhaps  it's  his 
wife's  influence;  but  you  can't  blame  her.  I  'm  a  stranger 
and  she  thinks  they  have  a  right  to  their  life.  Many  a 
night  this  last  year  I've  prayed  to  go  to  my  Father's 
house  where  there  are  many  mansions,  for  it  seems  as 
if  fate  was  just  forcing  me,  little  by  little,  out  of  this 
world;  but  I  guess  the  hardest  thing  in  life  is  to  die  when 
you  want  to." 

"May  Ca'line,  don't  talk  sol"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Berry 
desperately.  "See  here,  I  just  suspected  you  might  not 
have  anything  in  the  house  for  company  and  I  brought 
over  a  few  things."  She  picked  up  the  bundle  from  the 
floor.  "Come  out  in  the  kitchen  and  let  me  show  you." 

"How  awful  it  is,"  said  the  hostess,  eyeing  the  pack 
age  spiritlessly,  but  rising  obediently  and  following  her 
friend's  determined  figure.  "You  remember,  Martha, 
how  I  used  to  have  the  sewing-circle  sometimes,  and 
I  think  they  had  as  pleasant  a  time  and  as  good  things 
to  eat  here  as  anywhere." 

"Indeed  we  did,"  was  the  hearty  response.  "There 
was  n't  a  better  cook  than  you  in  town,  and  there  was 
always  more  fun  and  more  doin'  around  where  you  were 


10  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

than  anywhere  else.  Yes,  indeed,  you  had  your  day, 
May  Ca'line,  and  you  Ve  pulled  the  wool  over  my  eyes 
completely  right  along.  You  'd  ought  to  go  on  the  stage 
and  be  an  actress.  Now,  you  sit  down  on  that  chair  and 
I'm  going  to  get  us  some  supper." 

Mrs.  Laird  obeyed.  Her  lips  were  parted,  her  eyes 
expressionless  as  they  watched  the  expert  movements 
of  her  guest. 

"When  folks  have  had  their  day,  would  n't  it  be  fine 
if  they  could  get  out  and  give  others  a  chance!"  she 
said  when  Mrs.  Berry's  racket  at  the  stove  had  abated. 

"Now,  don't  think  about  that.  'T  ain't  a  bit  like 
you.  When  Joe  gets  this  letter  he'll  sense  things  differ 
ent  and  you'll  see,  he'll  come  and  take  you  right  home." 

"That's  the  worst  of  all.  It's  just  misery  to  think 
of  it.  Worse  than  all  the  pinching  and  all  the  pretending 
and  all  the  worry  and  loneliness." 

"You  need  a  good  meal  o' victuals,"  declared  Mrs. 
Berry,  snapping  her  eyelids  together,  "and  you're  goin' 
to  get  it.  The  things  only  need  to  be  het  up." 

"You're  very  kind,  Martha.  I  don't  know  what  you 
may  have  saved  me  from,  coming  over  to-day.  I  felt  — 
the  most  desperate  I  ever  have." 

"There,  there,"  returned  the  guest  vaguely. 

An  appetizing  fragrance  began  to  rise  from  the  stove. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  YOUNG  COUPLE 

MRS.  JOSEPH  LAIRD'S  temper  was  not  at  its 
best  in  the  morning.  The  effort  to  secure  the 
most  entertainment  her  husband's  salary  could  provide, 
and  yet  keep  up  such  an  appearance  in  her  home  as 
should  not  injure  her  pride  when  friends  dropped  in, 
seemed  a  problem  involving  much  strain:  it  pressed 
most  upon  her  in  the  early  hours  of  the  day. 

She  did  not  attempt  to  breakfast  with  Joe.  The  duties 
of  her  one  maid-of-all-work  were  elastic,  but  they  could 
not  cover  getting  and  serving  Mr.  Laird's  breakfast  and 
dressing  the  twins;  so  Mrs.  Laird  dragged  herself  out 
of  bed  yawning,  and  in  her  kimono  struggled  with  the 
obstreperous  five-year-olds,  Bob  and  Ella,  who,  by  the 
time  she  reached  their  room  were  usually  bursting  with 
animal  spirits,  the  result  of  a  long  night's  sleep,  and 
the  fleeting  visit  which  their  father  always  made  them 
before  descending  to  his  hurried  cup  of  coffee. 

Joe  Laird  was  tall  and  lean  and  his  young  face  was 
rather  haggard.  His  long  hours  of  close  work,  the  home 
responsibilities  which  he  had  assumed  so  early,  and  the 
exigencies  of  a  wife  whose  creed  it  was  that  there  was 
no  place  like  home  to  get  away  from  in  the  evening, 
combined  to  give  him  a  hunted  look;  but  to  the  twins  he 
was  just  Dad,  and  his  early  daily  appearance  in  the 
nursery  was  always  greeted  joyfully.  That  toss  toward 
the  ceiling  that  followed  his  kiss  and  was  succeeded 
too  soon  by  a  rush  downstairs  to  breakfast  left  them  in 
the  effervescent  and  noisy  state  which  their  mother  en- 


12  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

dured  while  sleepily  making  their  toilet.  Their  gayety 
was  usually  soon  jerked  out  of  them,  and  was  followed 
by  the  quarrelsome  whining  which  was  their  customary 
mode  of  expression. 

It  can  easily  be  seen  that  Joe  Laird  would  not  choose 
the  morning  in  which  to  discuss  an  unpleasant  subject 
with  his  wife;  and  he  had  learned  in  many  tentative  in 
terviews  that  any  suggestion  of  the  introduction  of  his 
mother  into  their  home  was  most  unwelcome. 

The  letters  from  Leacock  had  been  cheerful  until  the 
last  year;  but  during  that  stressful  period,  as  May 
Ca'line  had  confessed  to  her  friend,  the  mother  had 
thrown  out  many  a  desperate  hint  as  to  her  straitened 
and  straitening  circumstances;  hints  which  had  always 
spurred  her  boy  to  renewed  effort  to  awaken  his  wife's 
hospitality,  but  which  proved  unchangeably  vain. 

A  line  had  already  come  in  Joe  Laird's  young  fore 
head.  He  had  inherited  his  mother's  good  looks  and 
the  waves  of  her  auburn  hair.  Gladys,  in  occasional 
discontented  reflections  upon  how  much  better  she 
might  have  done,  always  came  back  to  the  conviction 
that  Joe  had  been  the  most  romantic  lover  in  the  world. 

At  last  there  came  a  day,  the  very  one  upon  which 
Martha  Berry  cooked  a  meal  in  her  old  friend's  kitchen, 
when  Joe  Laird  came  home  at  evening  with  somber  and 
determined  eyes. 

"Oh,  dear,  you're  late,  Joe,"  was  his  wife's  greeting. 
"Did  n't  you  remember  this  is  the  night  of  the  dance?" 

"So  it  is,"  returned  her  husband.  "It  did  slip  my 
mind,  but  it  could  n't  have  made  any  difference.  We 
had  some  extra  business  at  the  office  to-day." 

His  voice  was  weary,  his  face  pale  with  the  heat,  and 
his  eyes  rested  indifferently  on  his  wife,  whose  pink 


THE  YOUNG  COUPLE  13 

gown  and  careful  coiffure  showed  her  ready  for  the 
terpsichorean  fray. 

"Well,  can't  you  say  my  dress  is  sweet?  I  finished 
it  only  to-day." 

She  bridled  for  his  inspection. 

"It  is  that!  I  guess  you're  a  pretty  clever  girl, 
Gladys,"  the  young  man  replied  as  he  kissed  her  lightly 
and  hung  his  hat  on  the  rack. 

"Well,  wash  your  hands  quick  and  let  us  have  dinner. 
It's  waiting." 

Joe  presented  himself  very  soon  and  regarded  his 
wife,  who,  hurried  as  she  was,  took  time  to  turn  herself 
about  again  for  his  admiration.  Her  idea  of  style  was 
in  the  day  of  short  gowns  to  wear  her  skirt  a  little  shorter 
than  did  her  equally  ambitious  neighbor;  and  in  a  day 
of  close  hair-dressing  to  plaster  her  raven  locks  in  sweep 
ing  curves  more  flat  to  her  temples  and  more  completely 
eclipsing  her  ears  than  was  usual.  Her  black  eyes 
glowed  with  satisfaction.  Joe  would  escort  the  most 
modish  girl  in  the  assembly  and  one  of  the  best  look 
ing.  She  wanted  him  to  appreciate  it. 

He  nodded  and  tried  to  assume  the  expression  she 
expected  of  him,  but  he  was  very  tired  and  he  sank 
into  his  chair  at  table,  while  still  nodding. 

"You're  a  peach,  all  right,  Gladys,"  he  said. 

She  tripped  over  to  her  own  place,  smiling. 

"What  do  you  suppose  they'd  say  to  changing  the 
dance  into  a  trolley  party  to-night?"  her  husband  sug 
gested  as  he  began  carving  the  meat. 

"In  these  clothes?"    She  laughed. 

"That's  so.  I  suppose  all  the  girls  will  be  too  flossy 
for  a  ride,  but  it's  awfully  hot  to  dance  and  I'm  dog- 
tired," 


14  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Gladys  smoothed  out  a  sudden  frown.  "You'll  feel 
different  after  dinner,"  she  returned.  This  husband- 
coaxing  was  weary  business  she  reflected,  and  Joe  was 
always  tired  lately. 

"You  never  went  out  home  with  me  except  the  one 
time  just  after  we  were  married,  did  you,  Gladys?" 

"No,  that  was  enough  for  me!  How  glad  you  must 
have  been  to  get  away  from  that  little  hole  of  a  Lea- 
cock." 

"Yes,  I  was.  Gladder  than  I  would  be  now,"  said 
Joe  in  the  same  dull,  quiet  voice  he  had  been  using. 

Joe  Laird  stirred  his  iced  tea  and  looked  across  at  his 
wife.  "I  have  n't  been  a  good  son,  Gladys.  I  hope  Bob 
will  never  treat  us  as  I  did  mother  in  the  matter  of  our 
marriage." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  should  have  taken  her  into  my  confidence.  Mother 
ought  to  have  had  the  chance  to  see  her  only  son  mar 
ried." 

Gladys  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  conveyed  a  fork 
full  of  peas  —  canned  peas  —  to  her  red  lips. 

"Oh,  you  told  her  why  afterwards.  You  told  her  we 
could  n't  afford  to  have  any  wedding  and  we  decided  it 
would  save  embarrassment  to  both  sides  of  the  house 
if  we  slipped  off  quietly  and  told  of  it  afterward." 

"Yes,  but  I  knew  later  that  it  gave  mother  a  great 
blow.  I  had  told  her  I  was  in  love  with  you,  but  she 
naturally  thought  that  we  would  have  a  long  engage 
ment  as  other  poor  young  folks  do."  The  speaker  was 
silent  for  a  thoughtful  moment.  "She  was  very  brave 
and  very  kind  to  us  when  we  went  out  there." 

"Oh,  yes,  she  was  all  right,  but  what  a  place  to  have 
to  live!" 


THE  YOUNG  COUPLE  15 

"I  think  she  has  lived  there  too  long,"  responded  Joe 
Laird  quietly. 

His  wife  looked  up  with  quick  suspicion,  and  a  hard 
look  grew  around  her  mouth. 

"She  probably  likes  it,"  she  returned.  "You  know 
how  older  people  cling  to  their  homes.  What's  got  you 
started  on  this  to-night,  Joe?" 

"Two  letters  I  received  to-day.  One  was  from  the 
Leacock  grocer  calling  me  down  for  several  pages  be 
cause  I  did  n't  look  after  my  mother  better,  and  sending 
me  a  bill  she  has  n't  been  able  to  pay  him.  I'll  let  you 
read  it." 

"No,  you  won't;  I  don't  want  to  read  it."  Gladys's 
eyes  sparkled.  "You  won't  allow  me  to  run  up  bills. 
Why  should  she,  and  then  expect  you  to  pay  them?" 

"Mr.  Berry  says  she  has  —  has  worked  hard  to  eke 
out  her  living.  My  mother  must  be  nearly  fifty." 

"That  is  n't  old,"  retorted  Gladys.  "The  club  women 
to-day  are  active  at  seventy  and  more.  Why  should  n't 
she  work?  She's  much  happier  that  way,  I'm  sure." 

"My  second  letter  was  from  her,"  went  on  Joe  in  the 
same  unmoved  voice.  "She  has  written  me  with  the 
utmost  cheerfulness  until  this  year,  and  I've  written 
her  so  seldom." 

"Men  are  n't  expected  to  write  letters." 

"No,  their  wives  usually  do  it  for  them." 

Gladys  shrugged  again.  "Oh,  I  hate  it;  and  how  could 
I  write  your  mother  anyway?  She  never  would  under 
stand  our  life." 

"She  could  understand  news  of  her  son  and  the 
children." 

Gladys  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork.  "What  got  us 
talking  about  all  this?"  she  asked.  "Do  cheer  up,  Joe. 


16  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

You're  in  a  nice  mood  to  go  to  a  dance,  and  I've  had 
such  a  long  day!  You  know  the  kindergarten  has  closed 
and  the  children  have  acted  like  all  possessed." 

"I  think  mother  could  help  you  with  them." 

"Oh,  no,  thank -you!"  —  hastily  —  "I  don't  want 
her." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,  for  the  time  has  come.  She 
writes  me  of  the  foreclosure  of  the  mortgage  on  the 
cottage." 

Gladys  grew  as  pink  as  her  gown.  Her  eyes  shone 
ominously.  "  Why  did  n't  she  tell  you  sooner?  She  had 
no  right  to  let  it  come  to  this." 

"  I  imagine  she  knew  I  could  n't  carry  any  more  than 
I  do.  Never  mind  whys  or  wherefores.  Mother  has 
to  come  to  us." 

"That  means  more  economy.  I  slave  and  slave  and 
sew  for  myself  and  the  children  and  save  every  penny, 
and  it  would  be  worse  than  ever  if  we  had  her  to  take 
care  of." 

"We  have  her  to  take  care  of,  and  I'm  going  to  Lea- 
cock  Saturday  night  to  bring  her  here  on  Sunday." 

"You  shall  not  do  it,  Joe!  You  don't  mean  it!" 
Gladys  breathed  fast,  and  the  angry  tears  sprang. 

"I  mean  it  very  decidedly."  The  young  man  spoke 
slowly.  "  If  you  do  not  agree  to  the  arrangement  we  will 
have  to  move  to  a  cheaper  place  so  that  I  can  pay  her 
board  elsewhere." 

"We  can't  go  into  an  apartment  with  the  children. 
Even  this  miserable  little  back  yard  we  have  is  invalu 
able.  At  least  there  are  no  automobiles  in  it." 

"Well,  that  is  for  you  to  decide,"  responded  Joe. 

She  studied  him  for  full  sixty  seconds  of  silence.  The 
lean,  white  face  was  so  strong  that  for  the  minute  she 


THE  YOUNG  COUPLE  17 

hated  him.  He  went  on  with  his  dinner  and  did  not 
return  or  seem  conscious  of  her  gaze.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  was  wondering  when  and  how  he  could  pay  that 
grocery  bill  of  twenty  dollars. 

His  gay  little  mother,  always  turning  an  intrepid 
face  toward  past,  present,  and  future!  He  remembered 
how  every  playmate  of  his  childhood  had  loved  to  be 
in  her  presence  and  catch  the  infection  of  her  fun  and  the 
good-cheer  that  emanated  from  her  as  perfume  from  the 
rose;  and  what  a  tender  mother  she  had  been  to  him! 
How  ready  her  sympathy  when  he  wanted  to  leave  home 
and  seek  his  fortune  in, the  city!  How  spontaneous  her 
sacrifices;  how  undaunted  her  behavior  since  he  had 
failed  her,  yes,  failed  her  in  his  selfish,  impulsive  youth. 

He  cast  a  quick  glance  across  at  his  rose-clad  wife. 
Her  parents  had  courted  him  and  hurried  them  to  the 
altar.  He  could  find  excuses  for  himself  in  many  a  mem 
ory,  but  he  had  enough  of  his  mother  in  him  not  to  seek 
his  own  leniency,  nor  to  indulge  unchivalrous  thoughts. 

"You  must  decide,  Gladys,"  he  said  again  with 
emphasis.  "Believe  me,  my  mother  hates  to  come  here 
worse  than  you  hate  to  have  her.  She  is  alive  in  every 
nerve  to  the  fact  that  it  is  a  bitter  necessity.  We  have 
not  shown  her  enough  care  or  attention  for  her  to  have 
any  illusions;  so  think  it  over  and  make  up  your  mind. 
Can't  you  see  my  position?  Can't  you  see  that  I'm 
up  against  it?" 

Gladys's  eyes  drooped  heavily.  "I  don't  feel  much 
like  dancing,"  she  said. 

"May  we  call  it  off?"  he  asked  hopefully. 

"No,"  she  snapped.  "I've  seen  enough  of  this  house 
to-day." 

It  was  the  first  time  Joe  had  stood  out  against  her  in 


18  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

any  discussion.  She  sent  him  inimical,  covert  glances 
from  time  to  time  as  they  finished  the  henceforth  silent 
meal.  Gladys's  fleeting  examination  of  her  husband 
convinced  her  that  on  one  subject  at  least  she  was 
going  to  find  him  adamant;  and  resentment  and  dismay 
possessed  her. 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.  BERRY'S  ADVICE 

MRS.  BERRY  was  dusting  the  best  room  one  morn 
ing  when  Mrs.  Laird  surprised  her. 

"I  came  to  the  kitchen  door,  Martha,  and  there  was 
nobody  there,  so  I  came  right  through.  Joe 's  coming." 

The  speaker,  her  hat  slightly  awry,  was  breathless  and 
all  alight  and  quivering.  "It  was  a  telegram,"  she  went 
on.  "Here  it  is.  He  says  for  me  to  be  ready  to  go  back 
with  him." 

Mrs.  Berry  tried  to  speak  with  extra  calm  in  the  face 
of  a  tremulous  excitement.  "That's  good.  Sit  down, 
May  Ca'line."  She  took  the  offered  envelope  and  mov 
ing  her  spectacles  down  from  the  top  of  her  head,  read 
the  contents.  "H'm.  He's  comin',  ain't  he?  Well, 
that's  good,"  she  said  soothingly. 

"But  what  have  I  got  to  wear,  Martha?"  It  was  a 
piteous  appeal. 

"Well,  I'll  come  over  and  we'll  look  through  your 
things.  Yes,  this  is  Thursday  and  he's  comin'  Sat 
urday.  We'll  fix  you  up.  Now,  don't  you  worry,  May 
Ca'line." 

Mrs.  Berry  seated  herself  near  her  visitor  in  whose 
mobile  face  and  expressive  eyes  joy  and  apprehension 
were  alternating. 

"I  have  n't  seen  him  for  a  year,  and  yet  when  I  think 
of  what  his  coming  means  —  "  The  speaker  choked  on 
the  last  word  and  brought  the  back  of  her  thin  hand 
quickly  against  her  trembling  lips. 


20  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"We  can't  help  one  chapter  closing  and  another 
beginning  in  this  changin'  world,"  said  Mrs.  Berry, 
trying  to  speak  philosophically,  though  her  old  friend's 
emotions  were  always  so  infectious  that  she  could  now 
feel  a  threatening  lump  begin  to  rise  toward  her  own 
throat.  "The  fact  is,  May  Ca'line,  you're  drove  to  it, 
you're  just  drove  to  it." 

"Yes,  and  I've  got  to  intrude  into  the  home  of  those 
young  people  that  very  likely  have  a  hard  time  to  get 
along  as  it  is,  and  how  can  they  want  me?  It  would  n't 
be  natural.  Oh,  Martha,  if  there 's  anything  in  this  world 
I  hate  it's  a  parasite.  I'm  going  to  be  a  parasite." 

"Why,  May  Ca'line  Laird!"  Mrs.  Berry  spoke  with 
horror.  "How  can  you  call  yourself  a  tapeworm?  I 
guess  you  don't  know  what  you  're  sayin'.  Dr.  Foster 
cured  Jim  Woodlow  of  one  and  he  said  it  was  a  para 
site." 

Mrs.  Laird  mingled  a  slight  laugh  with  more  than 
a  suspicion  of  tears.  "There  are  different  kinds,"  she 
said.  "Women  that  hang  on  other  folks  is  one." 

"Well,  I  guess  you've  got  a  right  to  hang  on  your 


own  son." 


Mrs.  Laird  used  her  handkerchief  dolorously.  "It  does 
seem  so  good  to  think  of  seeing  Joe.  Every  little  while 
I  forget  that  he's  married  and  I'm  so  happy  for  a 
minute  I  can  hardly  contain  myself." 

"H'm,  you  would  be,"  returned  Mrs.  Berry  dryly. 
She  was  wont  to  say,  speaking  of  her  friend's  nearly 
irrepressible  optimism,  that  there  was  nothing  in  this 
world  May  Ca'line  so  closely  resembled  as  a  cork.  If 
fate  for  one  moment  relaxed  the  pressure  that  sub 
merged  her,  quick  as  a  wink  she  was  floating  again  on 
top  of  the  wave. 


MRS.  BERRY'S  ADVICE  21 

Just  at  this  moment,  however,  the  optimist  looked 
small  and  shrunken  and  damp. 

"Now,  see  here,"  suggested  Mrs.  Berry  heartily, 
"perhaps  that  wife  of  Joe's  is  a  clever  sort  of  critter 
after  all.  Mostly  where  a  woman's  got  two  children 
and  a  small  income  she  gets  the  angles  rubbed  off. 
Bein'  up  nights  with  twins  takes  the  frills  off  anybody. 
Now,  I  don't  want  you  should  borrow  any  trouble,  but 
I  do  want  to  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,"  Mrs.  Berry 
finished  impressively. 

"What  is  it?"  was  the  tremulous  response.  Mrs. 
Laird's  uplifted  gaze  looked  ready  to  be  grateful. 

"If  she  turns  out  not  to  be  clever,  but  acts  kind  o' 
lofty  and  undaughterly,  I  want  you  should  hold  your 


own." 


"My  own?"  came  the  feeble  echo. 

"Yes ;  don't  be  meechin'  with  her."  Mrs.  Berry  thrust 
forward  her  chin  with  a  challenge.  "There's  folks  that 
are  the  better  for  bein'  bullied;  but  there  ain't  one 
that's  better  for  bein'  —  bein'  meeched  to."  Mrs.  Berry 
was  forced  to  the  enriching  of  the  English  language  in 
order  to  emphasize  her  point.  "She  may  try  to  slide 
the  housework  off  on  to  you." 

"  I  should  want  to  help,"  protested  the  other. 

"Yes;  but  you  don't  want  to  cook  for  the  whole 
family;  and  more  than  that  you  don't  want  to  be  a 
nursemaid  at  your  time  o'  life.  You've  brought  up  one 
family  and  that's  enough.  You've  got  a  right  to  a 
home  with  your  son.  Why,  they  say  in  Japan,  grown 
up  children  bow  down  and  worship  their  parents." 

"But  it  would  be  too  expensive  for  all  of  us  to  move 
to  Japan,"  returned  May  Ca'line,  in  a  little  voice  that 
sounded  feeble  against  Mrs.  Berry's  sonorous  exhorta- 


22  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

tion,  but  with  a  suggestion  of  the  familiar  twinkle  in  her 
wet  eyes. 

"You  'd  better  start  the  way  you  want  to  go  on.  '  Give 
some  folks  an  inch  and  they'll  make  it  a  hell!'  Simon 
says;  and  it's  true,  too.  You  think  everybody  just  needs 
wings  to  be  an  angel,  and  that's  why  I  can't  trust  you. 
In  some  ways  you  have  n't  ever  grown  up,  May  Ca'line. 
Now,  wipe  your  eyes  and  let's  talk  about  your  clothes. 
I  s'pose  you  've  got  a  trunk." 

"It's  just  awful  and  it  has  n't  been  out  of  Leacock 
for  twenty  years,"  mourned  the  visitor. 

"All  right,  then,  you  shall  take  mine;  and  you  can 
express  it  back  to  me." 

"No,  no,  that  would  be  too  expensive.  Thank  you, 
Martha,  but  I'll  take  the  old  one." 

"Well,  we'll  see."  Mrs.  Berry  regarded  the  hat  shad 
ing  her  visitor's  pretty  hair.  The  bunch  of  violets  had 
faded  to  gray  and  the  trimming  was  rusty.  "Have  you 
got  any  other  hat,  May  Ca'line?"  she  asked  gently. 

The  postmistress  had  heard  of  Joe  Laird's  telegram 
and  she  was  soon  on  the  field,  all  interest  and  excitement 
to  help  her  old  school  friend  get  ready  for  the  momen 
tous  move  to  the  city.  She  and  Mrs.  Berry  both  made 
contributions  from  their  own  wardrobes  to  aid  in  a  pre 
sentable  departure,  and  May  Ca'line  was  too  dazed  to 
offer  more  than  a  faint  protest. 

When  Mrs.  Laird  entered  the  room  where  they  were 
working,  Miss  Woodward  addressed  her. 

"I  s'pose  you'll  go  to  the  depot  to  meet  Joe,  won't 
you?"  she  asked. 

"  I  can't  trust  myself,  Hetty.  I  'm  so  nervous  and  silly 
I  know  I  '11  cry  when  I  see  him  and  I  'd  better  do  it  here." 


MRS.  BERRY'S  ADVICE  23 

"I  don't  blame  you  one  bit,"  returned  the  postmis 
tress  sympathetically,  recognizing  her  own  opportunity. 

The  next  day  she  was  on  the  station  platform  ten 
minutes  before  train  time,  walking  up  and  down  in  the 
twilight  of  the  long  summer  evening.  Hetty  Woodward 
loved  excitement,  and  there  were  but  spare  bits  of  it  in 
Leacock.  Even  a  moving  picture  was  to  be  seen  there 
but  twice  a  week.  Hetty,  with  her  gray  elf-locks  fly 
ing  and  her  inevitable  chewing-gum,  had  it  not  on  her 
conscience  that  she  had  ever  missed  one  performance. 
Now  she  stalked  up  and  down  the  platform  with  a  mar 
tial  air.  It  was  due  to  Joe  Laird  that  somebody  should 
meet  him. 

"Hello,  Het,"  greeted  the  station  master,  spitting 
down  toward  the  track  in  a  moment  of  leisure.  "Ex- 
pectin'  your  beau?" 

"No,  I  ain't.  Don't  you  know  who's  coming  here 
to-night?" 

Miss  Woodward  put  the  question  in  genuine  surprise. 

If  Joel  Beers  did  not  know,  it  proved  that  he  had  not 
been  to  the  post-office  for  two  days. 

"Can't  say  I've  heard  of  any  celebri-ety  headin'  this 
way." 

"Well,  Joe  Laird's  comin'  on  this  train." 

"What  for?  To  git  spanked?  I've  heard  tell  he  needs 
it,  lettin'  May  Ca'line  run  down  till  she's  all  eyes." 

"He's  comin'  to  get  her,  Joel,"  stated  Miss  Wood 
ward  importantly.  "He's  comin'  to  take  her  home  with 
him  to  the  city.  May  Ca'line 's  goin'  to  leave  us." 

"Well,  she'd  better  while  there's  enough  of  her  to  go. 
These  last  weeks  she's  looked  to  me  as  if  she  was  walkin' 
around  to  save  funeral  expenses." 

"And  if  this  forlorn  village  was  on  a  straight  road  to 


24  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

town,  instead  of  sidetracked  on  a  junction,  we  might  see 
her  sometimes,"  returned  Miss  Woodward.  "While  we 
have  to  go  round  Robin  Hood's  barn  to  get  to  town,  how 
could  we  expect  Joe  Laird,  busy  as  he  is,  to  come  often 
to  see  his  mother?" 

"How  busy  is  he?"  inquired  Mr.  Beers  skeptically. 

"Well,  I  guess  there  ain't  anybody  connected  with 
the  X.  &  Y.  Railroad  that  ain't  busy,"  retorted  the 
postmistress,  bridling. 

"What  is  he?  Train  boy?"  inquired  Joel,  grinning. 

"Well,  with  a  wife  and  two  children,  Joel  Beers,  and 
supportin'  'em,  and  now  his  mother,  I  guess  his  position 
ain't  anything  to  sneeze  at  for  such  a  young  man." 

Miss  Woodward  had  no  idea  why  she  was  hotly  de 
fending  Joe  Laird,  whom  a  week  ago  she  would  have 
condemned  to  the  lowest  dungeon;  but  if  one  lives  on  a 
branch  road  in  a  village  incapable  of  supporting  even 
a  movie  theater,  one  must  do  the  next  best  thing  and 
be  dramatic  one's  self  in  the  gap  between  the  red-letter 
nights. 

Very  soon  after  this  exchange  the  headlight  appeared 
around  the  corner,  and  the  station  master  sauntered 
to  the  spot  where  he  was  wont  to  dodge  the  mail  bag, 
and  Hetty  tucked  her  hair  behind  her  ears,  and  pre 
pared  to  receive  the  railroad  magnate  whom  she  had 
often,  and  it  seemed  but  yesterday,  driven  away  from 
her  cherry  trees. 

Two  people  only  descended  from  the  train.  One  was 
Deacon  Jones,  who,  Hetty  knew,  had  gone  to  the  city 
to  bring  back  news  to  the  church  of  a  famous  revival 
going  on  there.  The  other  was  a  long-legged  young  fel 
low  in  a  gray  summer  suit  and  straw  sailor  hat.  He 
carried  a  bag,  and  had  scarcely  time  to  look  about  the 


MRS.  BERRY'S  ADVICE  25 

familiar  platform  when  Miss  Woodward  launched  her 
self  toward  him. 

"Welcome,  Joe  Laird,  welcome  to  your  old  home  — 
if  it  is  you  —  why,  you  're  no  more  the  apple-cheeked 
rascal  you  used  to  be  —  why,  you  favor  your  ma  beyond 
all  belief!" 

During  this  speech  Miss  Woodward  was  hospitably 
sawing  the  air  with  the  visitor's  imprisoned  hand,  and 
Joel  Beers,  dragging  and  dropping  the  mail  bag,  ap 
proached  as  the  train  was  moving  on. 

"Well,  I  caPlate  it  is  Joe,"  he  drawled,  "but  you've 
gone  up  in  the  air  some  since  I  seen  you  last,  boy,  and 
what  you've  gained  north  and  south  you've  lost  in 
east  and  west.  How  are  you,  anyway?" 

Joe  Laird  succeeded  in  freeing  his  hand  to  greet  the 
station  master. 

"It  smells  good  out  here,"  he  said,  and  his  city 
clothes,  his  carriage,  and  his  smile,  convinced  Hetty 
on  the  spot  that  he  was  a  loss  to  the  film. 

"You  don't  change  a  bit,  Mr.  Beers.  It  seems  as  if 
you  were  going  to  shoo  me  off  the  tracks  in  a  minute." 

"I  allers  said  you  was  born  to  be  hung,"  rejoined 
Joel  cheerfully. 

The  visitor  laughed.  "My  mother  is  n't  around  here, 
is  she?" 

"No,  she  ain't,  Joe,"  responded  Hetty.  "She  thought 
she  druther  meet  you  at  home."  She  winked  and 
grimaced  significantly.  "Feels  it  a  good  deal,  you  know, 
Joe.  She  feels  it  a  good  deal,"  she  added  with  a  throaty 
dolor.  "Me  and  Martha  Berry  have  been  helpin'  her 
to  get  ready  to  go,  so  I  thought  I'd  just  come  over 
and  meet  you,  'cause  you  might  think  it  queer,  seein' 
nobody." 


26  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  returned  Joe,  the 
smile  dying  from  his  face  and  eyes,  and  that  stern  line 
in  his  forehead  deepening.  "  Thank  you  ever  so  much, 
too,  for  helping  mother,  Miss  Woodward.  Good-night." 
The  speaker  shook  her  unexpectant  hand  and  turned 
to  the  station  master.  "Good-night,  Mr.  Beers."  Then 
his  long  stride  swung  down  the  platform  leaving  Hetty 
with  her  lips  parted  ready  for  the  next  thing  she  had 
prepared  to  say  to  him. 

"Quite  the  city  man,  ain't  he?"  commented  Joel. 

Miss  Woodward  swallowed  her  disappointment  and 
gathered  her  dignity  about  her.  "You  can  see  you  was 
slightly  mistaken,"  she  said.  "He  ain't  anybody  to 
spank.  I'll  bet  May  Ca'line'll  be  proud  of  him.  He 
looks  like  a  movie  hero." 

"Huh!"  grunted  the  other,  "I'd  like  to  spank  all  of 
them  puppets."  And  he  dragged  the  mail  bag  away 
toward  its  closet. 

Miss  Woodward  moved  off  with  a  vague  sensation 
of  injured  pride.  A  movie  hero  would  have  seen  her 
home,  anyway,  and  probably  in  a  seven-passenger  tour 
ing  car.  Well,  she  had  seen  him,  anyway,  and  there 
were  no  official  duties  to  prevent  her  running  over  to 
the  3 : 06  to-morrow  to  see  them  off,  as  it  would  be  the 
Sabbath  day. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  TETE-A-TETE  SUPPER 

JOE  LAIRD'S  face  which  had  set  as  Hetty's  words 
brought  before  him  the  whole  situation,  slowly  re 
laxed  as  he  stepped  off  the  station  platform  and  moved 
deeper  into  the  good  smells  of  the  summer  evening. 
The  silver-white  moon  began  to  assume  a  golden  tinge. 
The  air  was  still.  Croaking  of  frogs  and  chirping  of 
crickets  sounded  just  as  they  used  to  at  bedtime  in  the 
old  days.  He  thought  of  Simon  Berry  and  the  unpaid 
grocery  bill,  and  he  shuddered  to  think  of  what  might 
have  happened  in  the  way  of  escort  had  he  not  had 
presence  of  mind  to  assume  seven-league  boots  and 
leave  Miss  Woodward  .far  in  the  rear.  So  Mrs.  Berry 
had  been  one  of  his  mother's  good  angels  —  the  wife 
of  the  grocer.  He  hoped  she  was  not  at  the  house  now, 
extending  her  friendly  offices  to  helping  his  mother  to 
meet  her  son. 

He  walked  faster,  thankful  for  the  solitude  of  his 
path  under  the  heavily  arching  trees.  As  he  neared  home 
he  whistled,  and  the  mother,  standing  listening  alertly 
under  the  stars,  cried  out,  "Joe!"  and  ran  lightly  down 
the  rickety  steps.  She  fled  along  the  path  and  met  him 
at  the  gate.  Joe  dropped  his  bag  and  for  a  moment 
they  proceeded  no  farther;  just  stood  locked  in  a  tight 
embrace.  May  Ca'line's  head  reached  no  higher  than 
her  tall  boy's  shoulder,  and  with  her  cheek  against 
his  breast  and  his  resting  on  her  hair,  they  stood,  he, 
forced  by  the  very  strength  of  her  excited,  happy  sobs 


28  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

and  clinging  embrace  to  wink  away  his  own  tears  as 
he  laughed. 

"Great,  is  n't  it,  mother?"  he  said.  "Great,  is  n't  it?" 
and  gulped  manfully. 

"How  —  how  long  will  you  let  me  cry,  Joe?"  she 
sobbed. 

"Why,  we  have  all  night,  and  it's  very  pleasant  out 
here,"  he  said,  holding  her  close,  and  patting  her  little 
shoulder. 

"I  —  I  sort  of  think,  Joe  —  I  think  —  I  have  a  feeling 
that  this  is  the  happiest  moment  I  shall  ever  know." 

Her  boy  gave  another  short  laugh,  although  he  felt 
the  significance  of  her  words.  "Then  you  keep  it  right 
up,  honey,"  he  replied,  and  there  was  reverence  in  the 
kiss  he  pressed  again  upon  her  forehead.  He  had  re 
ceived  memorable  lessons  in  appreciation  of  her  type  of 
womanhood. 

"It's  the  finest  sort  of  a  night,"  he  went  on;  "the 
moon  is  gorgeous  and  I  have  n't  felt  a  mosquito  yet." 

"You're  so  good,  Joe!"  The  declaration  came  in 
jerkily. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  was  just  thinking  what  a  cur 
I'd  been  not  to  get  out  here  all  winter." 

"I  won't  let  you  say  such  things.  I  understand  pretty 
well,  Joe,  how  full  your  life  is." 

"Well,  we  won't  talk  about  it.  We're  together  now." 
The  young  man  as  he  spoke  writhed  his  handkerchief 
out  of  a  tightly  pressed  breast  pocket  and  began  to  lift 
his  mother's  head  and  wipe  her  eyes.  She  smiled  up  at 
him  tremulously  in  the  moonlight. 

"I'm  yearning  for  a  cup  of  tea,"  he  said. 

"Darling  child ! "  she  exclaimed  remorsefully.  "What 
am  I  thinking  of!" 


A  TETE-A-TETE  SUPPER  29 

She  disengaged  herself  and  started  to  reach  for  his 
bag.  He  caught  it  up,  and  with  one  arm  around  her  led 
her  along  the  garden  path. 

"If  life  were  all  like  this!"  she  thought,  wishing  there 
were  some  way  she  could  hold  back  the  minutes. 

There  was  a  lamp  on  the  dining-room  table,  which 
was  spread  with  a  red  cloth.  Half  a  boiled  ham  reposed 
on  a  platter,  a  high-piled  plate  of  bread,  another  of 
cheese,  a  dish  of  jelly,  another  of  butter,  gladdened  the 
traveler's  eyes;  and  while  he  was  washing  his  face  and 
hands  his  mother  brought  tea  and  hot  biscuit  from  the 
kitchen.  They  sat  down  opposite  each  other,  and  while 
Joe  devoured  the  edibles,  his  mother's  eyes  devoured 
him.  It  was  almost  too  much  happiness  to  have  him 
all  to  herself,  to  have  food  to  give  him,  and  to  watch 
him  eat  it. 

"Hetty  Woodward  met  me  at  the  station,"  he  re 
marked. 

"Why,  that  was  nice  of  her.  They're  all  very  kind 
and  interested." 

The  young  man  looked  up,  and  met  glad  eyes  and 
tremulous  lips. 

"It  was  shabby  of  you  to  eat  your  supper  before  I 
came,  mother." 

"Oh,  I  did  n't,  dear." 

"Then  why  are  n't  you  eating?" 

"I'm  —  I'm  looking  at  you." 

Joe  smiled.  "Little  mother!"  he  said,  returning  her 
gaze.  For  the  first  time  he  began  to  realize  the  change 
that  the  last  year  had  made  in  her  appearance. 

He  paused  in  his  energetic  spreading  of  the  good  bis 
cuit.  "Who  have  you  been  looking  at  for  the  last  six 
months  that  made  you  forget  to  eat?" 


30  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Oh,  I've  been  eating,  dear!"  she  declared.  She 
colored  under  his  gaze. 

"  You've  worried  yourself  to  skin  and  bone,"  he  said 
abruptly,  "and  it's  my  fault." 

"Joe!"  she  ejaculated,  "I  know  I  look  a  bit  forlorn; 
but  don't  speak  of  it  now,  please."  She  clasped  her 
hands.  "I'm  as  happy  just  for  this  minute,  as  if  I'd 
died  and  gone  to  Paradise.  Let  me  have  this  one  per 
fect  time.  Let's  not  speak  of  one  unhappy  thing  this 
evening.  You're  as  much  mine  to-night  as  you  were 
when  they  first  put  you  in  my  arms  and  lifted  me  to  the 
seventh  heaven.  I'm  there  now.  Don't  bring  me  down." 

Her  voice  and  gaze  were  thrilling.  Her  son  swallowed 
some  obstruction.  "Then  won't  you  eat  with  me, 
mother?"  he  asked  at  last.  "I  wish  I  was  sure  I'd  have 
biscuit  like  this  in  Paradise." 

"Like  mother  used  to  make,"  she  returned.  "Yes, 
indeed,  I'm  going  to  eat,  only  I'm  slow.  You  always 
did  like  my  biscuit."  She  poured  a  cup  of  tea  for  her 
self  as  she  spoke. 

"That's  the  real  reason  I'm  taking  you  home,"  said 
Joe,  picking  up  his  knife  and  fork  and  returning  to  the 
attack. 

She  laughed.   "And  is  n't  that  wonderful  ham,  Joe?" 

"I  never  ate  better.  I'm  glad  you  placed  the  platter 
in  front  of  me." 

"There's  an  angel  in  this  village,"  said  Mrs.  Laird 
fervently.  "Her  name  is  Martha  Berry." 

"I  —  I  remember  her,  of  course,"  returned  Joe, 
several  sentences  of  Simon  Berry's  letter  returning  to 
him  with  new  and  vivid  understanding. 

"She  sent  me  all  these  delicious  things  for  your  sup 
per  to-night." 


A  TETE-A-TETE  SUPPER  31 

The  son  looked  up,  suddenly  grave.  "Why  was  that 
necessary?"  he  asked. 

"My  dear  —  why,  Joe,"  stammered  his  mother,  sur 
prised  at  his  tone,  "you  know  when  folks  are  going 
away  on  a  journey  —  when  folks  are  packing,  you  know 
how  it  is  —  so  inconvenient  to  cook  —  and  —  and  — 
everything.  I  —  I  did  make  the  biscuit,  dear." 

Her  pleading  eyes  besought  her  boy  to  respect  the 
rule  for  the  evening.  He  reminded  himself  that  what 
ever  the  conditions,  they  were  the  result  of  his  own 
neglect.  He  tried  to  smooth  out  his  frown. 

"I'm  sorry  my  mother  had  to  receive  gifts  of  this 
kind,"  he  said,  her  meager  little  body  seeming  to  tell 
him  tales  her  lips  would  never  utter. 

"Why,  even  Elijah  was  fed  by  ravens,  Joe,"  she  said 
coaxingly,  "and  I'm  not  so  good  as  Elijah." 

She  smiled  at  him  persuasively  and  took  a  mouthful 
of  ham.  Simon  Berry's  bill  was  on  her  mind  heavily. 
Joe  would  have  to  know  about  it  some  day,  but  not 
to-night,  not  this  glorious  night  when  she  and  her  boy 
were  together  alone. 

"Elijah  didn't  have  a  son,  perhaps,"  returned  Joe 
gloomily,  "and  a  good  thing  he  did  n't,  probably."  His 
appetite  was  gone  for  all  this  food  offered  up  by  the 
defrauded  and  indignant  Berrys. 

"Now,  don't  you  stop  eating,  dear.  It  would  hurt 
Martha's  feelings  dreadfully  if  you  did  n't  like  the  things 
after  she's  gone  to  the  trouble.  We  have  to  let  folks  be 
neighborly,  you  know,  and  —  we  must  take  gifts  in  the 
spirit  in  which  they  are  offered." 

Joe,  convicted  by  his  own  conscience,  had  more  than 
a  suspicion  of  the  spirit  in  which  these  things  had  been 
offered,  but  he  made  a  manful  effort  to  recapture  the 


32  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

zest  of  a  few  minutes  ago  and  satisfy  those  big,  anxious 
eyes  across  the  table. 

"You  must  notice  the  pansies,  Joe,"  said  his  mother, 
and  he  regarded  the  broad,  shallow  dish  that  graced  the 
center  of  the  board,  brimming  over  with  velvety  kitten 
faces  in  yellow,  purple,  and  white. 

"H'm,  those  a  present,  too?" 

"No,  indeed.  I  raised  those  and  they've  been  such  a 
joy;  but  to-day  I  went  out  and  cut  every  one.  I  could  n't 
bear  to  think  of  them  to-morrow  looking  for  me  to  come 
and  give  them  a  drink.  I  thought  we'd  enjoy  them  to 
gether." 

"They're  beauties,  and  no  mistake." 

"I  thought  we  might  take  them  to  the  children,"  said 
May  Ca'line  tentatively.  "Do  you  have  flowers  in 
your  yard?" 

Joe  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "No,  only  the  human 
ones.  Gladys  does  n't  seem  to  care  for  gardening  and, 
of  course,  she's  very  busy." 

The  mother  winced  involuntarily  at  the  name.  This 
boy,  this  tall  man,  who  had  been  her  baby,  belonged  to 
another  woman.  No  matter  what  illusion  she  tried  to 
create,  or  how  she  tried  to  turn  her  back  on  the  facts, 
another  woman  owned  him;  stood  nearer  to  him  than 
his  mother. 

"You've  made  such  a  cozy  picture  of  this  table  it 
does  n't  look  here,  to-night,  as  if  you  were  on  the  point 
of  leaving  the  old  place  for  good,"  continued  her  son. 
"Excuse  me,  mother,"  for  the  bony  little  hand  across 
the  table  suddenly  lifted  to  the  quivering  mouth  and  her 
eyes  shone  out  at  him.  It  was  not  tender  association, 
it  was  not  regret  at  leaving  the  scene  of  her  long  sordid 
battle,  that  brought  the  tears,  it  was  Gladys;  but  she 


A  TETE-A-TETE  SUPPER  33 

could  n't  tell  him  that.  "  Of  course,"  he  went  on  re 
morsefully,  "it  means  a  lot  for  you  to  give  up  the  old 
place." 

He  rose  and  came  around  the  table  to  his  mother,  put 
his  arms  about  her  and  drew  her  head  to  his  breast. 
She  was  so  happy  in  his  embrace  that  she  did  not  weep. 
She  clutched  his  arm. 

"I  could  n't  be  sorry  to  go  anywhere  with  you,"  she 
said,  and  he  was  relieved  to  feel  that  she  was  not  crying. 

"That's  the  little  mother,"  he  said  approvingly,  and 
gave  her  a  parting  pat. 

"I'm  going  to  put  a  pansy  in  your  coat,  Joe."  She 
rose  and  selected  the  handsomest.  "I  hope  you're  not 
through  supper,"  she  added  as  she  pinned  it  in. 

"I  am  and  now  we're  going  to  wash  the  dishes,"  he 
responded. 

"Well,  some  of  them.  The  girls  told  me  to  pile  them 
up  and  leave  them  and  they'd  do  these  and  the  break 
fast  ones  together  after  we  had  gone." 

"What  girls?" 

"Martha  and  Hetty.  Oh,  Joe,  what  it  means  to  have 
good  friends  at  such  a  time!  My  trunk  is  all  packed 
and  corded,  and  Martha 's  lent  me  a  real  nice  hand-bag, 
and  they  fixed  this  dress  for  me."  The  speaker  raised 
her  arms  the  better  to  show  off  the  dark  serge  at  which 
Joe  frowned  thoughtfully.  He  did  n't  dare  ask  if  that, 
too,  was  a  gift.  His  mother  lifted  her  wavy  head  and 
smiled  up  at  him.  "  I  have  n't  very  many  clothes,  Joe. 
I  hope  your  friends  are  n't  fashionable  people.  If  they 
are  you'll  want  to  lock  me  in  a  back  room,  out  of  sight." 

"I'm  glad  you  have  good  friends,"  he  answered 
gravely,  "but  I  don't  like  this  donation  business.  No 
wonder  they  all  think  I  'm  a  tramp." 


34  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"Now,  stop,  Joe.  They  understand.  I  don't  feel  one 
bit  superior  to  Elijah  and  I'm  thankful  to  the  ravens 
and  you  must  be.  Just  think  how  kind  they  are!  To 
morrow  they  will  come  and  gather  up  the  food  and  soiled 
linen  and  make  everything  tidy,  and  lock  the  house  and 
save  me  all  the  bother  and  expense.  I  can't  be  too 
grateful  to  them." 

"I'm  thankful,  too,"  said  Joe  in  a  subdued  manner. 
"Sit  down,  mother,  and  drink  one  more  cup  of  tea;  then 
we'll  clear  away." 

"I  really  have  had  a  great  deal  of  supper,"  she  pro 
tested,  but  he  forced  her  gently  down  into  her  chair 
and  she  drank  a  little  more  tea.  Joe  spread  half  a  bis 
cuit  for  her  and  she  smiled  deprecatingly  with  pleasure 
at  his  attention,  and  ate  it. 

When  the  food  was  covered  and  put  away  (May 
Ca'line  being  very  careful  not  to  disturb  a  bowl  of  eggs 
destined  for  the  precious  breakfast)  and  the  last  dish 
wiped,  mother  and  son  went  into  the  living-room.  The 
moonlight  lay  there  in  a  broad  beam.  The  lamp  Joe 
carried  was  scarcely  needed,  but  it  enabled  him  to  see 
more  clearly  the  shabbiness  and  poverty  about  him. 

His  mother  read  his  thought  as  he  set  down  the  lamp 
and  they  stood  regarding  the  room. 

"Sit  down,  dear,"  she  said,  indicating  the  rocker 
with  its  split  covering.  Absent-mindedly  he  obeyed. 
She  drew  a  smaller  chair  beside  it  and,  seating  herself, 
took  hold  of  his  sleeve.  "I  can't  seem  to  get  close 
enough  to  you,"  she  said. 

He  returned  to  the  realization  of  her.  "Come  here, 
then,  you  mite,"  he  answered,  and  took  her  into  his 
lap.  She  laughed  delightedly  and  nestled  into  his  arms, 
her  head  against  his  shoulder.  The  moonlight  flowed 


A  TETE-A-TETE  SUPPER  35 

generously  through  the  mended  curtains,  across  the 
slit  matting. 

"Now,  tell  me  all  about  yourself,  Joe." 

"I  wish  I  could  stay  out  here  with  you  a  month,"  was 
the  unexpected  reply. 

"You  do?"  she  cried  joyously.  "Would  it  be  pos 
sible,  dear?" 

"Utterly  impossible." 

"I  suppose  you'll  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  don't 
know  exactly  what  your  business  is,  Joe,  nor  how 
you  live.  I  have  your  street  number,  of  course,  and  I 
know  you  're  with  the  X.  &  Y.  Railroad,  but  sometimes 
when  people  ask  me,  I'm  sorry  I  don't  know  more 
detail.  I  try  not  to  let  them  suspect  it.  Of  course,  it 
won't  matter  now  because  I'll  see  you  every  day.  Oh, 
Joe,  think  of  it!"  She  turned  her  face  in  against  his 
coat,  torn  by  the  mixed  emotion  of  joy  and  appre 
hension. 

"You'll  soon  find  that  I'm  not  much  to  see.  I  don't 
believe  many  men  are  heroes  in  their  own  families.  At 
any  rate,  I'm  not.  Life's  just  a  hustle." 

The  dispirited  tone  struck  some  chord  in  the  mother's 
breast. 

"It  ought  not  to  be.  Life  ought  to  be  joy,"  she  said 
with  conviction. 

"Well  —  you  know  whether  it  is  or  not,"  he  re 
sponded. 

"To-night  I  know  it  w,"  she  declared,  and  squeezed 
him. 

"You  want  to  know  what  I  do,"  said  Joe,  rocking 
gently  with  his  light  burden.  "Whenever  I  stop  to 
realize  it,  and  look  back  over  the  past  five  years,  I 
know  that  I'm  a  lucky  beggar;  a  fool  for  luck  as  the 


36  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

saying  is.  My  marrying  at  twenty-one  and  with  the 
salary  I  was  getting  was  insanity,  pure  and  simple.  It 
was  awfully  tough  for  any  girl  to  run  up  against  such  a 
fool.  I  was  one  small  item  in  two  long  rows  of  clerks 
in  this  railroad  office  and  I  was  getting  twenty  dollars 
a  week." 

"I  suppose  you  were  honest  with  Gladys's  parents." 

"Yes,  I  was.  They  knew  and  she  knew;  but  I  was 
crazy  about  her  and  she  thought  we  could  get  along, 
so  we  took  a  cheap  room,  and  thought  the  picnicking 
and  trolley  rides  were  good  fun  for  a  while.  It  was 
when  I  found  that  we  were  going  to  have  another  mouth 
to  feed  that  I  waked  up." 

May  Ca'line  gave  her  boy's  arm  an  understanding 
pressure. 

"It's  a  wonder  to  me  my  hair  didn't  turn  white 
during  the  few  months  along  there.  I  saw  no  chance 
of  advance.  Gladys's  people  were  n't  in  a  position  to 
help  us  any.  Well,  the  twins  were  actually  born  in  that 
little  room  of  ours.  Gladys's  mother  came  and  stayed 
with  her  awhile.  I  hung  on  a  hook  somewhere  those 
weeks,  and  just  as  I  was  finding  out  how  little  food  a 
man  can  live  on  and  setting  my  teeth  to  begin  to  pay 
on  the  doctor's  bill,  my  piece  of  luck  happened." 

"Dear  boy,  I'm  so  glad!" 

"One  of  the  high  muck-a-mucks  of  the  road  had  to 
pass  by  us  in  the  outer  office  every  day  to  get  to  his 
room.  It  seems  he  happened  to  pick  me  out  of  the  crowd 
of  hustlers,  why,  I  shall  never  know;  but  one  day  I  was 
told  to  go  to  his  sanctum.  It  was  one  of  the  days  when 
Gladys  was  n't  so  well  and  when  everything  at  home 
had  combined  to  make  me  feel  that  my  place  was  the 
river.  Well,  the  high  muck-a-muck  is  a  rather  stunning- 


A  TETE-A-TETE  SUPPER  37 

looking  personage.  When  I  went  in  he  turned:  'This 
is  Mr.  Laird?'  said  he,  piercing  me  through  and  through 
with  his  eyes  and  looking  me  over  from  head  to  foot. 
4 Sit  down,  Mr.  Laird.'  I  did  so.  There  wasn't  any 
starch  in  my  knees,  anyway,  and  I  know  I  was  pale  as 
a  ghost.  'I'm  afraid  you're  not  well,'  said  the  boss. 
'You're  not  half  as  afraid  as  I  am,'  said  I,  real  hold-like, 
and  I  smiled  with  the  courage  of  despair.  'When  you 
smile  it's  exact,'  said  he,  looking  very  interested  and 
a  little  startled,  I  thought.  In  thinking  over  that  first 
interview  afterward  I  remembered  he  said  that;  but  at 
the  time  I  did  n't  notice.  I  was  having  all  I  could  do 
not  to  throw  myself  on  my  weak  knees  before  him  and 
beg  him  to  lend  me  a  hundred  dollars,  knowing  it  would 
be  like  a  nickel  to  him.  I  don't  yet  know  who  he  meant 
I  was  like  when  I  smiled.  Sometime  I'll  ask  him." 

"Go  on,  Joe,  go  on/"  for  the  boy  seemed  lost  for  the 
moment  in  reminiscence.  "Did  he  give  you  a  job,  poor 
darling?" 

"He  asked  why  I  was  afraid.  I  answered,  because  I 
was  married;  and  he  said  it  was  absurd  for  me  to  be 
married  and  I  deserved  to  be  afraid;  and  he  laughed 
and  asked  how  my  nurse  could  have  been  so  careless. 
I  told  him  that  I  knew  I  'd  done  wrong,  but  that  it  was 
too  late  to  repent  now  because  there  were  twins.  He 
looked  as  aghast  as  I  felt  for  a  minute,  and  then  he 
threw  his  head  back  and  laughed  more  heartily  than 
before.  I  did  n't  like  it.  It  was  hard  enough  to  be  har 
assed  and  worried  and  perplexed,  without  being  made  to 
feel  ridiculous.  I  fancy  he  saw  me  grow  red,  and  he 
guessed  by  my  expression  how  far  from  a  laughing  mat 
ter  it  all  was  to  me.  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  mouth 
and  sobered  up.  'I  sent  for  you,'  he  said,  'to  ask  you 


38  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

how  you  liked  your  job.  I  know  now,  without  your  tell 
ing  me.  In  fact  I  have  seen  for  several  weeks  that  you 
were  liking  it  less  and  less.' 

"A  cold  chill  crept  down  my  back.  'Have  I  neg 
lected  anything,  sir?'  I  asked.  He  shook  his  head. 
'No;  and  the  fact  of  this  patriarchal  condition  of  yours 
explains  the  symptoms  I  have  noticed.  I  am  about  to 
lose  my  private  secretary.  You  are  very  young  and, 
of  course,  very  inexperienced,  but  I've  a  fancy  to  try 
you.'  My  heart  absolutely  stood  still.  It  was  the  most 
exciting  moment  of  my  life.  I  did  n't  say  a  word,  but 
if  a  man's  eyes  ever  poured  out  eagerness  and  gratitude 
I'm  sure  mine  did. 

"  'Where  are  you  living?'  he  asked  next.  I  told  him. 
'You'd  like  to  try?'  he  asked.  'Mr.  Breed,'  said  I,  'if 
striving  will  accomplish  it  I  shall  learn  to  fill  the  place.' 
'I  believe  you  will,'  he  answered.  So  there,"  finished 
Joe,  "was  my  wonderful  luck.  Why  it  came,  why  he 
picked  me  out,  I  don't  know  any  more  than  you  do, 
unless  it  really  was  my  resemblance  to  somebody. 
You  'd  better  believe  I  did  n't  care,  either.  He  was 
wonderfully  kind.  He  advised  against  our  going  into 
an  apartment,  because  he  said  a  yard  was  so  necessary 
for  children." 

"Has  he  seen  the  children?" 

"Yes,  he  has  seen  Gladys  and  the  children  once." 
Joe  paused,  then  continued,  "He's  a  martinet,  mother, 
and  the  job  is  no  cinch.  He  has  never  made  any  more 
references  to  my  winning  smile,  but  he  knows  that  I 
don't  leave  a  stone  unturned  in  the  effort  to  give  him 
satisfaction." 

May  Ca'line  lay  very  quiet  against  her  boy's  heart. 
"I'm  so  grateful  to  him,"  she  said  at  last;  then  she 


A  TETE-A-TETE  SUPPER  39 

added,  "Breed  is  a  common  enough  name,  I  suppose. 
What  is  your  great  man's  Christian  name?" 

"He  goes  back  to  first  principles  for  his.  His  name's 
Adam." 

May  Ca'line  slowly  turned  her  head  a  little  and 
buried  her  eyes  against  her  boy's  coat.  She  loved  him 
better  than  her  life;  and  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  rose 
from  her  heart,  that,  neglected  and  half-forgotten  in 
her  country  corner,  she  had  been  the  instrument  of  his 
salvation. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  FLITTING 

JOE  LAIRD  put  the  best  face  he  could  on  the  fare 
well  attentions  paid  to  his  mother  the  next  day. 

According  to  her  directions  he  gave  Mrs.  Berry  the 
key  to  the  cottage.  Its  condition  and  the  furnishings, 
as  the  morning  light  had  revealed  them,  had  deepened 
his  sense  of  the  estimation  in  which  he  was  probably 
held  by  the  friends  to  whose  charity  he  owed  his  break 
fast.  They  were  present  at  the  station,  and  his  em 
barrassment  under  their  eyes  took  the  form  of  a  stiff 
taciturnity,  which  caused  them  to  shake  their  heads 
when  the  puffing  train  had  finally  left  the  dusty  little 
station  to  its  Sabbath  hush. 

The  eyes  of  both  women  were  wet  as  they  stood  there 
alone. 

"He's  a  perfect  frog!"  declared  Hetty  Woodward, 
wiping  her  eyes  vigorously.  "He  did  n't  act  at  all  like 
that  last  night  when  I  met  him.  He  seemed  to  appre 
ciate  my  comin'  and  he  smiled  and  behaved  real  hu 
man.  He's  a  handsome  feller,  but  as  hard  as  nails." 

"  ' Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,''  responded 
Mrs.  Berry,  blowing  her  nose.  "May  Ca'line's  so  warm 
hearted,  it  makes  me  feel  real  timersome  to  see  her  go 
off  with  that  great  big  dumb  man,  and  to  think  she's 
in  his  power  and  leavin'  all  her  friends  behind  her!" 

"But,  did  n't  you  notice,  she  seemed  just  as  gay  as 
common?"  returned  Hetty  with  a  sniff. 

"Oh,  well,  but  you  know  May  Ca'line!   If  'twas  to 


THE  FLITTING  41 

the  stake,  she'd  go  with  that  airy  manner  and  all  her 
curls  bobbin'.  'This  is  my  boy,  and  though  he  looks 
as  if  he'd  swallered  a  knife  for  breakfast,  I'm  goin'  off 
to  the  city  with  him,  and,  of  course,  it  could  n't  be  any 
thing  but  a  lark.  I  hope  nobody '11  make  the  mistake 
of  thinkin'  I  ain't  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world.' 
That 's  May  Ca'line!" 

The  station  master,  having  busied  himself  with  the 
utmost  deliberation  in  certain  official  duties,  now  came 
into  view,  locked  the  little  building,  and  approached 
the  two  women. 

"All  over  but  the  shoutin',  ain't  it?"  he  remarked 
agreeably. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Berry;  "another  Leacock  chap 
ter  ended." 

"I  guess  we'd  all  end  'em  if  we  could,"  said  Miss 
Woodward;  "stupid  old  hole!" 

"Oh,  cheer  up,  Hetty,"  remarked  Mr.  Beers;  "I 
heerd  there's  a  movie  man  comin'  here  to  set  up  a 
stiddy.  He  cal'lates  to  git  a  lot  o'  trolley  trade." 

"He  will,  too."  Miss  Woodward's  dull  eyes  sparkled. 
"Where's  it  goin'  to  be,  Joel?" 

"Oh,  that's  tellin',"  he  returned. 

"Hard  work,  too,  when  you  don't  know,  ain't  it?" 
remarked  Mrs.  Berry  good-naturedly.  "  Come  on,  Hetty, 
you'll  probably  see  all  about  it  in  to-morrow's  ' Eagle.' " 

Meanwhile  mother  and  son  were  speeding  along  in 
the  beginning  of  May  Ca'line's  new  chapter.  She 
wished  the  trip  could  last  four  days  instead  of  four 
hours.  She  cast  little  covert  glances  at  the  regular  pro 
file  beside  her.  Her  boy  was  very  grave  and  quiet. 
She  tried  to  think  of  everything  she  might  afterward 


42  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

wish  she  had  said  to  him  while  he  was  all  her  own.  Her 
instinct  told  her  that  she  should  seldom  see  him  alone 
hereafter. 

"Are  you  thinking  of  very  important  things?"  she 
asked  at  last. 

Joe  started  and  smiled  down  at  her.  "Not  a  bit  of 
it,"  he  answered  cheerfully.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was 
determining  to  send  back  a  first  payment  to  Simon 
Berry  to-morrow. 

"I  was  wondering,  Joe,  if  Mr. —  if  your  boss,  as 
you  call  him,  knew  that  you  were  coming  to  Leacock 
to  get  your  mother." 

"Yes;  when  I  asked  for  the  day  off  I  told  him." 

"It's  a  wonder  to  me  he  stays  in  the  city  now  warm 
weather  has  begun." 

"He  does  n't.  He  has  a  wonderful  place  up  in  the 
country,  but  he  motors  in  every  day." 

"His  family  out  there?"  asked  May  Ca'line  tenta 
tively. 

"Well,  naturally,"  returned  Joe,  and,  exasperating 
male  creature  that  he  was,  said  no  more. 

"Who  are  there  in  his  family?"  came  the  question 
after  a  short  silence,  during  which  the  young  man's 
thoughts  had  gone  far  afield. 

"Whose?" 

"In  Mr.  — Mr.  Breed's  family." 

Joe  laughed.   "What  a  bump  of  curiosity!" 

His  mother  averted  her  head  a  little  and  looked  out 
of  the  window.  "I'm  sure  it's  natural  I  should  be  in 
terested  in  the  man  who  gives  you  your  living  and  — 
and  especially  when  I  realize  that  you  know  all  his 
secrets."  May  Ca'line  smiled  demurely  at  the  flying 
landscape. 


THE  FLITTING  43 

"He  does  n't  give  me  my  living  by  a  long  chalk.  I 
earn  every  cent  of  it." 

"Of  course  you  do,  dear;  but  who  did  you  say  was 
in  his  family?" 

"Why,  there's  an  invalid  son,  and  a  daughter  that's 
a  peach,  and  servants  —  well,  I  tumble  over  a  new  one 
every  time  I  go  out  there." 

"You  do  go  out  there,  then.  How  nice  of  the  —  the 
boss.  Do  Gladys  and  the  children  go?" 

Joe  smiled.  "Scarcely.  I  go  when  he  needs  me. 
Sometimes  he  dictates  to  me  in  the  motor." 

"Oh.    Is  his  —  is  his  wife  pleasant?"  •  »' 

"I  presume  so,  because  she's  been  with  the  heavenly 
host  a  long  time." 

"Joe!  Why,  Joe  Laird!" 

"Well,  I  never  saw  her.  She  died  before  my  time. 
You  must  come  into  the  office  and  see  Mr.  Breed  some 
day." 

"Not  for  the  world!"  replied  May  Ca'line  with  such 
frightened  emphasis  that  her  son  looked  down  at  her. 

"He  does  n't  bite,"  he  remarked,  "though  he  comes 
pretty  near  it  sometimes." 

"He  doesn't  come  to  your  house,  does  he?"  The 
question  was  apprehensive. 

"He  came  once;  but  he  never  seemed  to  care  to  re 
peat  the  dose."  The  same  shadow  fell  on  the  speaker's 
eyes  which  his  mother  had  noticed  at  his  first  mention 
of  that  visit. 

"I  hope  he  never  will,"  she  exclaimed  earnestly. 
"Everybody  knows  it  does  n't  work  well  to  try  to  mix 
business  and  friendship." 

Joe  Laird's  laugh  burst  forth  spontaneously. 

"What's  so  funny  about  that?"  demanded  his  mother. 


44  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Oh,  it  is  funny,  awfully  funny,"  her  boy  assured 
her.  "I  don't  know  that  self-made  men  are  always 
hard,  but  Adam  Breed  is  hard,  little  mother,  hard  as 
nails  —  with  occasional  surprising  soft  spots.  When  it 
comes  to  talking  about  social  relations  between  us,  you 
don't  know  what  a  joke  that  is.  The  Breeds  have  a 
stunning  town  house,  and  a  great  country  place  among 
hills  and  lakes,  a  regular  estate,  and  their  friends  are 
the  same  sort  as  themselves." 

"Well,  how  did  he  happen  to  come  once  to  your 
house?" 

"I  think  he  wanted  to  see  my  wife  and  children,  to 
tell  the  truth,  although  he  made  another  errand." 

"Did  n't  he  think  the  children  were  dear  little  things  ? " 

"He  did  n't  say.  He  took  them  both  up  on  his  lap 
and  was  as  nice  as  he  could  be  to  them.  I  told  you 
there  was  an  occasional  soft  spot  there." 

Joe's  smile  had  departed.  There  was  evidently  some 
memory  of  his  employer's  visit  which  bore  a  sting. 

"His  daughter's  quite  a  wonderful  girl.  She  comes 
into  the  office  sometimes  to  see  her  father.  She's  a 
looker  and  dresses  marvelously.  Gladys  keeps  tab  on 
her  gowns  as  they  are  described  in  the  papers,  but  she 
does  n't  hear  of  the  plain  tailored  things  I  see  her  in 
and  wish  every  woman  could  afford."  The  speaker 
sighed  unconsciously. 

His  mother  sighed  too,  a  breath  of  excitement,  in 
terest,  and  relief. 

"Oh,  I  hope  you'll  always  stay  poor,  Joe,  so  that 
they  won't  come,"  she  said  naively. 

"Well,  I  fancy  Mr.  Breed '11  see  to  that.  I'm  hoping 
he'll  loosen  up  at  the  new  year.  I'm  due  to  have  a 
raise,  but  I  suppose  it  won't  come  until  then." 


THE  FLITTING  45 

"I'm  sure  you  do  very  faithful  work,  Joe." 

The  young  man  shook  his  head.  "I  leave  no  stone 
unturned  to  make  myself  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
governor.  I  try  to  be  his  memory  and  his  right  hand, 
always  to  be  at  his  elbow  when  he  needs  me  and  in 
visible  when  he  does  n't." 

"It  sounds  like  a  game,  dear." 

"Of  course  it's  a  game;  all  life  is." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so,  Joe.  I  would  n't  call  it  that. 
Life  is  a  —  well,  a  service  as  I  see  it.  The  more  unself 
ish  we  can  make  it,  the  better." 

Her  boy  smiled  and  shrugged.  "What's  in  a  name? 
All  I  know  is  I  have  to  hustle  to  make  ends  meet  and 
I  wish  the  governor  would  give  me  a  little  more  rope." 

His  mother  made  no  reply  to  this.  She  knew  he  had 
no  intention  of  making  any  trying  implication  to  her; 
but  his  words  brought  her  back  face  to  face  with  the 
present  situation.  Soon,  now,  she  would  be  going  into 
his  little  home,  to  infringe  upon  Gladys's  space  and  add 
to  her  expenses;  all  because  there  was  no  alternative. 

"As  soon  as  I  get  stronger,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I 
will  try  to  get  something  to  do.  I  'm  not  an  old  woman." 

When  the  lump  in  her  throat  grew  almost  too  insis 
tent  to  be  swallowed,  she  reflected  stoutly  on  the  tale 
her  boy  had  told  her  of  his  desperation  and  deliv 
erance.  If  only  they  could  know  that  it  was  to  her 
they  owed  the  fact  that  the  twins  were  possessed  of  a 
yard  and  a  sand-pile,  even  Gladys  might  not  grudge 
her  a  corner  in  their  house;  but  they  could  never  know, 
because  they  could  not  look  at  her  without  ridiculing 
her  conviction;  and  the  thought  of  Joe  laughing  at  her 
with  his  young  wife,  behind  her  back,  brought  the  big 
gest  lump  of  all. 


46  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

It  was  late  supper- time  when  the  travelers  reached 
home.  Gladys,  a  set  smile  on  her  face,  opened  the  door 
to  them  and  offered  her  cheek  to  her  mother-in-law's  kiss. 
After  that  ceremony  she  seemed  at  a  loss  what  to  do. 

"Give  mother  a  chance  to  wash  her  face,  Gladys, 
and  then  give  us  something  to  eat  in  a  hurry.  I'm 
starved  and  she  probably  is.  All  we've  had  since  break 
fast  is  a  sandwich." 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  would  eat  on  the  train,"  said 
Gladys  coldly.  "Would  you  like  to  come  upstairs, 
Mrs.  Laird?" 

"Why,  of  course  she  would,"  returned  Joe,  flushing. 
"Where's  Nora?" 

"Gone  out,  of  course.  This  is  Sunday." 

"Surely.  Well,  you  take  mother  up  and  I'll  see 
what  Nora  has  left  us." 

A  little  sick  feeling  crept  round  May  Ca'line's  heart, 
but  she  followed  Gladys  up  the  stairs  to  a  small  room 
with  one  window,  that  had  hitherto  been  used  for  sew 
ing  and  extras  in  general. 

"I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  leaving  the  sewing- 
machine  in  here,"  Gladys  said.  "There  does  n't  seem 
to  be  any  other  place  for  it.  This  is  such  a  little  box  of 
a  house." 

May  Ca'line  seemed  to  hear  Martha  Berry's  sonorous 
exhortation  to  begin  as  she  could  go  on;  but  she  was 
swamped  by  the  current  of  her  feelings  and  could  n't 
trust  her  voice  to  do  more  than  assent. 

This  plump  young  person,  with  the  cold,  bold  eyes 
and  large  silver  buckles  on  her  shoes,  had  an  air  of  com 
bined  power  and  martyrdom. 

"Where  are  the  children?"  ventured  the  visitor.  To 
see  somebody  small  and  weak  would  be  reassuring. 


THE  FLITTING  47 

"In  bed.  I  get  them  out  of  the  way  early.  They're 
tired  enough  by  six  o'clock.  Come  down  when  you  are 
ready."  And  the  hostess  moved  away,  closing  the  door 
after  her. 

Not  a  word  of  welcome.  No  solicitude  for  her  com 
fort.  May  Ca'line's  worst  apprehensions  were  realized. 
She  bit  her  lip  hard.  It  was  difficult  enough  for  Joe. 
She  must  rise  above  it. 

She  washed  her  face  at  the  stand,  dashing  the  cool 
water  on  her  hot  eyes  where  tears  were  pressing. 

There  was  another  door  to  her  room  and  beyond  it 
she  now  heard  a  murmur  of  voices,  soft  at  first,  then  a 
vigorous  slap  responded  to  by  a  loud  "You  stop!"  an 
nounced  to  her  that  her  grandchildren  were  her  neigh 
bors.  She  dried  her  hands  and  face  and  walked  across 
the  room,  catching  up  the  pansies  on  the  way.  She 
opened  the  door  slowly  until  she  saw  twin  beds,  a  child 
sitting  up  in  each  and  two  pairs  of  brown,  round,  un 
smiling  eyes  fixed  upon  her.  As  she  advanced  she  smiled 
timidly,  but  no  response  was  awakened. 

"I'm  your  grandma,  dears,"  she  said  softly  and  held 
out  the  pansies.  As  soon  as  she  was  near  enough  Bob 
snatched  them  and  tried  to  hold  them  out  of  his  sister's 
reach.  She  promptly  threw  herself  against  him,  and  a 
tangle  of  arms  and  legs,  pulled  hair  and  cries  ensued. 

"Hush,  dears,  oh,  please  do!"  cried  May  Ca'line  in 
distress.  "Let  me  have  the  flowers  and  we'll  divide 
them  evenly." 

Bob,  feeling  himself  getting  worsted,  threw  the  bou 
quet  in  the  visitor's  direction,  and  she  caught  it  and 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  bed. 

"I  want  all  of  the  yellow  ones,"  announced  Ella. 

"So  do  I,"  declared  Bob  crossly. 


48  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"They're  all  pretty,"  said  their  grandmother.  "See 
their  little  kitten-faces?  They  grew  in  my  yard  in  the 
country  and  they  thought  they'd  like  to  come  to  town." 

Both  children  watched  her  with  a  gloomy  and  curious 
gaze  as  she  untied  the  stems. 

"You're  poor,  that's  why  you  had  to  come  here 
and  take  mother's  sewing-room,"  remarked  Ella,  who, 
it  quickly  appeared,  was  the  leading  spirit. 

"We  knew  you  would  n't  bring  us  anything,"  added 
Bob.  "You're  too  poor  to  buy  toys." 

May  Ca'line's  beating  heart  ached  under  a  calm  ex 
terior.  She  knew^the  worst  now,  that  even  these  chil 
dren  had  been  taught  contempt.  Mrs.  Berry's  words 
echoed  in  her  ears.  She  was  not  a  Daughter  of  the 
Revolution  for  nothing.  Her  spirit  was  at  bay.  Come 
what  may  she  determined  not  to  "meech." 

"Nonsense,"  she  said  calmly.  "Have  n't  I  brought 
you  these  flowers?  Did  you  ever  try  to  buy  any  at  a 
greenhouse?  They  cost  a  lot  of  money  there.  There's 
exactly  half  for  each  of  you,  after  throwing  away  the 
poor  little  things  you  hit  in  the  nose." 

Ella  laughed.  "Hit  in  the  nose,"  she  repeated;  "they 
have  n't  any  noses." 

"Of  course  they  have."  May  Ca'line  indicated  the 
velvet  feature.  "Now  are  you  going  to  kiss  your  grand 
ma  before  I  go  down  to  supper?" 

The  twins,  clutching  their  flowers  close,  and  casting 
jealous  and  suspicious  glances  each  on  the  other's 
bunch  lest  the  division  be  unequal,  submitted  to  being 
kissed,  and  just  as  they  did  this  their  father  appeared 
in  the  doorway.  Glad  cries  ascended  in  which  the 
greeting  to  his  mother  was  lost.  She  rose  and  stood 
away  from  the  bed  watching  her  boy  toss  the  next 


THE  FLITTING  49 

generation  as  high  toward  the  ceiling  as  his  long  arms 
permitted.  It  gave  some  balm  to  her  sore  heart  to  see 
the  antics  of  the  three  together. 

Finally  the  adored  daddy  put  them  back  in  their 
beds  in  spite  of  their  loudly  expressed  reluctance. 
"That's  the  way  this  little  grandma  of  yours  used  to 
toss  me,"  he  said,  throwing  an  arm  around  his  mother. 

The  children  looked  at  her  incredulously,  as  her  curly 
head  reached  just  to  their  big  father's  shoulder. 

"She  could  n't  toss  you,"  declared  Bob. 

"Yes,  she  could,  and  spank  me,  too,"  he  laughed, 
squeezing  the  little  shoulder  beside  him,  an  act  which 
administered  more  balm.  "Was  n't  she  a  good  little 
grandma  to  bring  you  those  flowers?"  for  the  children 
began  to  pick  up  the  scattered  blossoms. 

"They're  kittens,"  remarked  Ella. 

"Sure  thing,"  agreed  their  father.  "Go  to  sleep  now, 
both  of  you.  Come,  mother,  we've  scared  up  some  cold 
meat  and  bread  and  butter  and  Gladys  is  waiting  for 
us  to  have  a  cup  of  tea." 

In  silence  May  Ca'line  went  with  him. 

"Tired,  are  n't  you?"  he  said  kindly. 

"Yes,  I  am,  Joe,  a  little.  It's  —  this  is  all  very 
exciting  to  a  stay-at-home,  you  know." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  REVELATION 

was  waiting.  Sundry  unusually  peremp- 
tory  remarks  from  Joe  had  caused  her  to  sit  at  the 
head  of  her  table  and  serve  his  mother,  but  every  bite 
the  guest  took  threatened  to  choke  her. 

"You  have  a  very  pleasant  dining-room,"  she  said 
unsteadily. 

"Nothing  is  pleasant  in  the  city  at  this  time  of  year," 
replied  Gladys.  "If  Joe  had  an  employer  with  any 
heart  he'd  take  some  interest  in  our  getting  into  the 
country  for  at  least  a  month.  He  knows  that  Joe  has 
children,  but  a  lot  he  cares." 

"The  children  seem  strong  and  well,"  said  Mrs. 
Laird;  "I've  just  been  talking  with  them." 

"I'm  sorry  they  weren't  asleep,"  returned  Gladys, 
her  sullen  tone  conveying  a  broad  implication. 

Her  husband  met  her  eyes  with  a  grave  glance;  but 
he  spoke  lightly.  "You  might  have  known  they  would 
stay  awake  for  me.  I  tell  you,  mother,  I'm  solid  with 
those  kiddies." 

A  sick  (  qualm  stole  through  his  mother's  heart.  If 
these  two  should  ever  quarrel  before  her  and  because 
of  her  she  could  not  bear  it.  She  would  run  away.  She 
forced  a  faint  smile.  "I  saw  that,"  she  returned.  "They 
are  fine  children." 

"They're  awfully  troublesome,"  said  Gladys.  "It's 
all  very  well  for  Joe,  who  sees  them  just  morning  and 
evening.  I  guess  if  he  was  in  my  place,  their  bedtime 


THE  REVELATION  51 

would  be  the  most  interesting  moment  in  the  day  to 
him  as  it  is  to  me." 

"My  poor  boy!  My  poor  boy,"  thought  May  Ca'line, 
"you're  paying!" 

A  wave  of  intense  sympathy  for  him  steadied  her 
voice.  "I'm  so  tired  I'm  stupid,"  she  said,  "and  I 
believe  I  shall  have  to  go  to  bed."  She  moved  her  chair 
back  from  the  table.  "One  thing  you  have  n't  encoun 
tered  yet,  Gladys,  is  taking  stock  of  your  belongings,  the 
accumulation  of  years  in  an  old  house,  and  moving 


out.': 


"You  must  have  hated  to  do  it,"  said  Gladys.  All  her 
remarks  to  her  mother-in-law  were  made  with  lowered 
eyes. 

"I  did,"  returned  Mrs.  Laird.  "It  was  the  hardest 
thing  I  ever  did." 

"Well,  you  have  to  thank  Joe  for  it.  He  will  never 
let  well  enough  alone." 

"For  Joe's  sake,  for  Joe's  sake,"  repeated  the  guest 
mentally  as  she  rose. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me,  dear,"  she  said,  coming 
to  her  son's  side  and  pressing  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
as  he  started  to  rise.  "Finish  your  supper,  and,  Gladys, 
you  stay  with  him."  (Gladys  had  made  no  move  to  do 
anything  else.)  "It  is  still  light  enough  for  me  to  find 
everything  I  need  in  my  room  and  I  noticed  where  the 
matches  were." 

"Yes,  of  course  we  have  no  electricity,"  said  Gladys, 
"and  the  gas  is  miserable." 

"Good-night,  both  of  you,"  said  the  mother,  still 
keeping  a  firm  little  hand  on  Joe's  shoulder.  Her  boy's 
upturned  look  met  hers  and  now  Gladys's  gaze  was  not 
lowered.  Her  large,  bold  eyes  were  fixed  upon  mother 


52  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

and  son.  May  Ca'line  instantly  perceived  their  jeal 
ousy  and  suspicion  and  knew  instinctively  that  they 
would  be  watching  henceforth. 

"Do  as  I  say,  Joe,"  she  said  quietly.  "Don't  come 
upstairs.  Good-night." 

He  understood  why  she  did  not  stoop  and  kiss  him. 
He  turned  his  head  and  touched  his  lips  to  the  toil- 
worn  hand  which  was  quickly  withdrawn,  and  the 
mother  with  misty  eyes,  but  head  held  high,  moved 
out  of  the  room  and  upstairs. 

When  she  had  gone  Gladys  braced  herself  for  re 
proaches.  She  was  quite  aware  that  she  had  broken 
every  law  of  hospitality;  but  her  husband  surprised  her 
by  continuing  to  eat  and  drink  mechanically  and  in 
silence.  Very  well,  so  much  the  better.  She  had  be 
haved  honestly  and  as  she  intended  to  continue  to  do, 
so,  if  he  were  going  to  be  reasonable  and  unexacting  and 
make  no  fuss,  so  much  the  better.  She  poured  a  fresh 
cup  of  tea  for  herself  and  offered  Joe  one. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  she  said,  and  she 
spoke  quite  light-heartedly.  She  felt  that  the  opening 
scene  of  her  mother-in-law's  residence  had  been  very 
satisfactory.  She  had  let  her  see  the  perfunctory  state 
of  her  own  feelings  and  made  a  beginning  from  which 
she  could  go  on  and  "serve  her  right."  Joe  was  not 
going  to  complain  of  it.  He  was  already  engrossed,  as 
often  happened,  in  some  business  problem.  "A  penny 
for  your  thoughts,"  she  said  again. 

He  looked  up  then  and  met  her  eyes.  They  were 
very  good-looking  eyes  in  this  mood  of  self-satisfaction. 

"It  would  take  a  much  cleverer  man  than  I,"  he  said, 
"to  put  my  thoughts  into  words." 

His  gaze  clung  to  her  with  a  sort  of  fascination.   For 


THE  REVELATION  53 

the  last  two  years  he  had  been  industriously  building 
a  curtain  over  what  he  might  think  of  his  wife  if  he  did 
not  love  her  and  if  she  were  not  the  mother  of  his  chil 
dren.  Such  careful  work  as  he  had  put  into  that  cur 
tain!  Such  watchful  assiduity  to  seal  up  each  tiny 
crack  which  threatened  to  betray  a  part  of  what  lay 
behind  it!  Now,  in  this  last  half-hour  the  curtain  had 
been  totally  rent  away.  Every  tiniest  disgust  and  dis 
appointment  of  his  married  life  seemed  to  gather  in  a 
mighty  force  which  was  shattering;  and  the  actual 
verdict  of  his  brain  and  the  genuine  throb  of  his  heart 
proclaimed  themselves.  Instinctively  he  braced  him 
self  against  the  horror  of  the  revelation.  A  physical 
weakness  mastered  him  from  head  to  foot.  His  life 
was  a  ruin.  Even  the  thought  of  his  children  offered  no 
consolation.  They  were  victims,  too.  They  would  never 
rise  above  the  coarseness  of  their  blood  and  training. 

"Why,  Joe,  you  look,  deadly  white!"  exclaimed 
Gladys.  "What  is  the  matter,  Joe?  Is  it  the  heat?" 

She  rose  and  came  around  to  him.  He  put  up  his 
hands  defensively.  "If  you  just  won't  touch  me, 
please,"  he  said  gently,  "I  —  I'll  get  over  it.  I  —  I ,— 
need  air." 

A  sharp  shower  in  the  afternoon  had  caused  the 
windows  to  be  closed.  Gladys,  thoroughly  frightened, 
hastened  to  open  them.  She  seized  a  palm-leaf  fan  from 
the  sideboard  and  stood  beside  her  husband,  fanning 
him.  His  gasping  for  breath  lessened.  Color  began  to 
come  back  into  his  face.  At  last  he  smiled  wanly. 

"Funny  —  your  fanning  me,  is  n't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  what  was  it,  Joe?"  asked  his  wife  anxiously. 
"Do  you  think  it  was  your  heart?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  think  so.  Don't  take  any  notice,  Gladys. 


54  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Just  let  me  be  alone  for  a  little  while.  I'll  go  in  the 
other  room."  He  rose  slowly. 

"But  I  can't  let  you  be  alone  when  you're  ill."  Gladys 
began  to  have  uncomfortable  doubts  and  stirring  won 
der  as  to  whether  the  incidents  of  her  mother-in-law's 
installation  had  been  entirely  successful  after  all.  If 
this  attack  had  any  relation  to  herself,  Joe  was  behav 
ing  very  queerly  about  it.  On  the  other  hand,  if  there 
was  anything  the  matter  with  his  heart,  he  would  be 
making  that  an  excuse  for  not  dancing.  She  did  n't 
know  which  explanation  would  be  more  disagreeable. 

Whatever  the  cause  of  the  attack,  her  husband's 
drawn,  white  face  attested  to  its  severity.  She  watched 
him  rise  from  the  table  like  an  old  man,  holding  to  its 
edge  for  support,  and  move  slowly  toward  the  living- 
room.  Impulsively  she  took  a  step  forward  to  follow. 
He  motioned  her  back. 

"No,  please,"  he  said.  "Sorry  I  can't  help  you  clear 
away.  I'll  lie  down  a  bit." 

As  he  disappeared  Gladys  stood  still  and  listened. 
He  had  spoken  gently  to  her,  but  if  he  went  upstairs 
it  would  be  because  he  felt  that  his  mother  needed 
consolation  and  then  she  would  understand  that  a 
storm  had  merely  been  postponed.  Postponed  by 
what?  Did  Joe  really  have  a  weak  heart?  Her  brows 
drew  together  and  she  listened  intently.  No  footstep 
on  the  stairs.  All  was  still.  She  relaxed  and  began 
clearing  off  the  table,  taking  the  dishes  to  the  kitchen 
and  piling  them  for  Nora  to  wash  in  the  morning;  and 
as  she  moved  she  cogitated.  If  Joe  really  had  any 
thing  the  matter  with  his  heart,  what  a  nuisance  it 
would  be.  He  would  n't  dance,  and  her  life  would  be 
duller  than  ever. 


THE  REVELATION  55 

Some  thought  suddenly  curved  her  pouting  lips  and 
softened  her  eyes.  She  wondered  if  Joe  would  let  her 
go  to  dances  with  another  man.  She  stood  still  with 
a  cup  in  each  hand  and  considered  the  possibility.  Her 
gaze  into  space  hardened.  Joe  was  getting  to  be  more 
of  a  kill-joy  every  day.'  Henry  Bird  was  always  jolly; 
always  in  for  a  lark.  All  the  girls  were  getting  to  be 
half-afraid  of  Joe.  As  Henry  said,  Joe  had  no  sense  of 
humor.  How  comical  and  witty  Henry  had  been,  call 
ing  Joe  "Deacon  Laird."  Probably  Joe  would  be  furi 
ous  if  he  knew  it.  "Poor  Henry."  Gladys  set  down  the 
cups  and  sighed  as  she  breathed  the  words. 

"Henry  says  my  face  is  like  a  rose  set  in  velvet 
night,"  she  reflected.  "Why  can't  men  always  stay 
lovers!  I  believe  they  could  and  would,"  she  muttered, 
clashing  the  silver  together  impatiently,  "if  it  was  n't 
for  money." 

Her  face  softened.  "A  commercial  traveler  like 
Henry  has  it  pretty  slick.  The  use  of  a  car  when  he's 
in  town  and  expenses  paid  everywhere." 

A  faint  click  from  the  front  of  the  house  arrested  her 
reflections.  The  front  door !  Who  could  have  come  in? 
She  had  warned  Henry  — 

She  hurried  out  of  the  kitchen  through  the  dining- 
room  and  into  the  living-room.  It  was  empty.  The 
gas  had  not  been  lighted.  The  pillows  on  the  divan 
were  tumbled.  Joe  had  been  lying  there.  She  went 
out  into  the  hall.  His  hat  was  gone.  She  looked  un 
certainly  up  the  stairs,  then  back  at  the  hat  rack.  All 
was  still  above.  He  had  gone  out.  Well,  he  had  said 
he  needed  air. 

Gladys  went  into  the  living-room  and  sat  down 
among  the  tumbled  cushions.  Her  heart  was  astir 


56  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

with  the  momentary  fear  that  the  commercial  trav 
eler  had  broken  in  upon  Joe's  siesta;  coming  in  without 
ringing.  There  would  have  been  a  scene. 

"Why  doesn't  Joe  ever  make  a  fuss  over  me  any 
more?"  she  thought,  defensively,  querulous  tears  moist 
ening  her  eyes.  "Why  does  he  hardly  ever  kiss  me,  or 
take  any  interest  in  anything?  And  now  if  he's  going 
to  be  an  invalid  on  top  of  everything  else  I" 

Her  sullen  eyes,  gazing  at  the  rug,  saw  again  the 
scene  of  the  tea-table.  Mother  and  son  so  alike  in  fea 
ture,  so  alike  in  the  suggestion  of  finely  organized 
humanity.  "Not  your  kind,"  suggested  some  inner 
voice.  "No,  indeed,  not  my  kind,"  was  the  stout  re 
tort,  "and  I'm  glad  I'm  different;  but  he's  mine.  Joe's 
mine.  The  girls  are  half-afraid  of  him,  but  they  always 
say  he  seems  like  a  swell,  even  though  he  is  only  a  poor 
secretary.  If  I  go  out  without  him  now,  though,  he'll 
have  his  mother;  and  if  he  consented  to  my  going  out 
it  would  probably  be  so  he  could  visit  alone  with  her." 
The  black  eyes  grew  gloomy  under  this  consideration. 
"No,  sir,  if  they  got  a  chance  to  band  against  me  it 
would  be  good-night.  She'd  little  by  little  get  her  foot 
in  and  in  a  little  while  I  would  n't  be  mistress  in  my 
own  house.  I  know  her  kind." 

These  astute  reflections  were  punctuated  by  a  wide 
yawn.  "If  Henry  knew  I  was  sitting  here  alone  in  the 
dark  like  this  there 'd  be  something  doing."  With  this 
Gladys  rose 'and  struck  a  match  and  looked  at  the 
clock. 

"It's  ten  and  I'm  sleepy.  I  wish  Joe'd  come  in.  I 
wonder  what  in  the  world  he's  doing." 

What  Joe  Laird  was  doing  was  keeping  his  mind 
fixed  on  one  consideration  and  that  one  his  mother. 


THE  REVELATION  57 

His  despair  frightened  him  into  the  nearly  irresistible 
longing  to  step  out  of  his  problem  forever.  He  plodded 
miles  putting  up  a  fight  against  a  temptation  so  over 
whelming  that  at  moments  he  was  breathless  and 
gasped  chokingly.  His  home  —  he  hated  it.  His  own 
room,  the  bed  he  must  sleep  in,  the  thought  was  suffo 
cating.  His  children  weighed  as  nothing.  One  figure 
alone  kept  drawing  him  back  to  the  purpose  to  live, 
to  the  same  knowledge  that  like  thousands  before  him 
he  should  fit  his  back  to  the  burden  and  continue  to 
work  and  sleep  in  his  ruined  world.  That  patient  face, 
strangely  girlish  and  appealing  through  its  lines  of  care 
and  deprivation,  followed  him  with  its  eyes  of  love,  and 
again,  as  unconsciously  as  before,  May  Ca'line  came  to 
the  rescue  of  her  son. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SECRETARY 

GLADYS  did  not  hear  her  husband  come  in,  but 
his  mother  did. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  couch  in  the  art- 
kimono  bestowed  upon  her  from  Hetty  Woodward's 
wardrobe.  She  was  still  tremulous,  but  not  weeping. 

For  Joe's  sake.  For  Joe's  sake.  How  far  would  that 
slogan  carry  her,  support  her?  Her  one  window  was 
now  opened  wide,  but  there  seemed  no  air  to  admit. 
She  rose  and  set  the  door  into  the  hall  ajar.  That  was 
why  she  heard  Joe  come  in,  for  his  entrance  was  nearly 
noiseless.  She  listened  for  his  foot  on  the  stair.  If  only 
she  might  catch  him  in  passing  and  feel  his  arms  around 
her  once;  yet  that  would  never  do.  He  might  speak, 
and  Gladys's  room  was  next.  Nevertheless,  the  mother 
listened  wistfully  for  the  dear  step.  She  waited  and 
waited,  but  it  did  not  come.  Joe  perhaps  was  reading. 

The  opened  door  had  created  a  little  draught  and 
she  threw  off  the  kimono,  glad  that  among  her  other 
troubles  she  could  not  see  its  yellow  dragons;  and  com 
forted  by  the  cooler  breath  of  air,  she  lay  back  on  her 
pillow  and  soon  fell  into  the  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

Almost  immediately,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  she  heard 
the  loud  voices  of  children,  and  wakened  dazed.  It 
was  daylight.  For  a  minute  she  could  not  place  her 
surroundings,  but  turning  her  head  her  eye  caught  the 
flaming  red  of  the  kimono  and  its  dragons  grinned  at 
her.  She  felt  it  cruel  of  them  in  the  heat.  She  turned 


THE  SECRETARY  59 

her  face  into  the  pillow  and  strove  with  herself.  She 
prayed  for  strength  for  this  day  and  all  the  days.  In 
spite  of  being  wakened  by  them  from  needed  sleep,  the 
voices  of  the  children  touched  her.  They  were  Joe's 
children.  They  must  love  her.  She  must  love  them. 

She  rose  and  closed  her  door  and  bathed  at  the  stand 
Gladys  had  arranged,  lest  the  guest  should  interfere 
in  the  bathroom.  At  last,  dressed,  she  opened  the  door 
of  the  nursery.  The  children,  sitting  up  in  their  twin 
beds,  ceased  their  play  and  stared  at  her  unsmiling. 

"Where's  daddy?"  demanded  Ella,  after  the  moment 
of  surprise. 

"Yes,  where 's  daddy?  We  don't  want  you,"  said 
Bob. 

May  Ca'line's  fatigue  seemed  greater  than  on  the 
day  before.  "Does  daddy  come  in  every  morning?" 
she  asked  in  a  feeble  voice. 

"Of  course  he  does.  Where  is  he?"  roared  Bob. 

"I  suppose  he's  dressing.  Don't  you?"  The  little 
grandmother  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  nearest  bed. 
"Perhaps  he's  splashing  around  in  the  bathtub.  Do 
you  splash  around  every  morning?" 

"No,"  returned  Ella  scornfully;  "we  don't  have  to 
every  day." 

"Mother  dresses  us  and  then  we  wash  our  face,"  said 
Bob.  "I  hate  soap." 

"I  hate  cold  water,"  added  Ella. 

"What  do  you  like?"  asked  May  Ca'line  rather  de 
jectedly. 

"The  movies,"  replied  Bob. 

"And  the  sand-pile,"  added  Ella. 

"You  must  show  me  the  sand-pile,"  said  their  guest. 
"I  like  to  dig,  too," 


60  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

This  suggested  caution  to  Ella,  who  was  of  a  calcu 
lating  turn.  "  We  only  have  two  shovels,"  she  remarked. 

"Where's  daddy?  Where's  daddy?"  yelled  Bob, 
throwing  the  sheet  from  him. 

"How  would  you  like  me  to  dress  you,  so  you  can  go 
and  find  him?" 

This  idea,  rather  to  May  Ca'line's  surprise,  found 
favor, .and  in  another  minute  she  was  putting  small 
stockings  and  shoes  on  the  restless  feet  and  was  just 
inserting  Ella's  legs  into  her  rompers  when  Gladys,  in 
a  rumpled  pink  negligee,  appeared,  from  the  next 
room.  Her  hanging  hair  was  tangled,  her  eyes  heavy 
with  heat  and  sleep. 

She,  addressed  the  guest.  "I  wish  you'd  leave  your 
door  into  the  hall  open  when  you  go  out  of  the  room," 
she  said.  "I've  been  standing  there  knocking.  I 
thought  you  must  be  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  dead." 

She  advanced  and  took  the  rompers  out  of  May 
Ca'line's  hand.  "That  is  n't  what  I  want  her  to  wear 
this  morning,"  she  said.  "I  wish  you  would  n't  dress 
the  children,  please." 

"Ouch!"  shouted  Bob  crossly  as  his  mother  jerked 
him  away  from  his  grandmother's  side.  "Where's 
daddy?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  responded  Gladys  in  her 
sleepy,  nasal,  morning  voice.  "Has  n't  he  been  in?" 
She  cast  a  quick  glance  at  her  mother-in-law.  She  was 
a  little  earlier  than  usual  this  morning,  for  it  had 
occurred  to  her  last  night,  as  she  was  retiring,  that 
Joe  would  have  to  go  through  his  mother's  room  for 
the  daily  frolic  with  the  babies,  in  which  she  had 
hitherto  taken  no  further  interest  than  that  it  gave 
her  a  little  more  time  for  her  morning  nap. 


Helen  M  Grose, 


I  WISH  YOU  WOULD  N  T  DRESS  THE  CHILDREN,  PLEASE 


THE  SECRETARY  61 

She  knew  what  that  would  mean.  Mrs.  Laird,  doubt 
less  used  to  the  early  hours  of  the  country,  would  have 
a  daily  tete-a-tete  with  Joe,  and,  of  course,  breakfast 
with  him.  She  looked  now  at  May  Ca'line  suspiciously. 
"Have  you  had  your  breakfast?" 

"No."  The  guest  stood,  her  hands  dropped  at  her  side. 

"Have  you  seen  Joe?" 

"No." 

"Funny  he  has  n't  been  in  here.  Get  up,  Ella!  Can't 
you  see  I  can't  fix  your  garter  if  you  twist  around  like 
that?" 

At  this  juncture  Nora,  the  maid,  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  She  gave  a  swift,  appraising  look  at  the  new 
member  of  the  family. 

"Children,  yer  father  told  me  to  tell  ye  he  was  in 
such  a  hurry  this  mornin'  he  could  n't  come  in  to  see  ye." 

The  various  noises  which  the  twins  emitted  to  sig 
nify  their  displeasure  at  this  information  cannot  be 
conveyed  on  the  printed  page. 

"Hush,  oh,  hush!"  exclaimed  Gladys,  shaking  the 
unlucky  Bob,  who  happened  to  be  under  her  hands  at 
that  moment.  "Keep  still,  both  of  you!"  —  for  he 
began  to  cry  and  Ella  stamped  with  all  her  force. 

"Nora,  you  take  the  children  down  and  give  them 
and  Mrs.  Laird  their  breakfast.  Keep  the  coffee  hot 
for  me." 

Nora  took  a  hand  of  each  twin,  and  their  grand 
mother  followed  in  silence. 

When  they  reached  the  dining-room,  Nora  gave  an 
other  look  of  appraisal  at  the  guest.  The  last  thing  Mr. 
Laird  had  said  on  leaving  this  morning  was,  "Take  good 
care  of  my  mother,  won't  you,  Nora?"  The  warm 
hearted  Irish  girl  adored  the  young  master  of  the  house 


62  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

and  she  did  n't  begrudge  any  extra  work  which  the 
presence  of  his  mother  might  necessitate;  but  she  had 
somehow  expected  a  big,  imposing  woman  who  would 
be  able  to  hold  her  own  with  the  mistress,  and  she  had 
looked  forward  with  some  anticipation  to  the  rows 
that  were  likely  to  add  to  the  gayety  of  life.  This  little 
woman  with  the  girlish  figure,  wavy  hair,  and  care 
worn  face,  destroyed  her  mental  picture  and  roused  her 
compassion. 

"She  won't  have  no  chance  here,"  was  her  decision. 

"Would  ye  sooner  have  toast,  mum?"  she  asked  the 
guest,  when  the  twins  were  seated  in  their  high  chairs 
before  their  bowls  of  oatmeal,  and  her  tone  was  so  kind 
that  May  Ca'line  looked  up  at  her  gratefully. 

"Thank  you,  I  like  the  corn  bread  very  much." 

Nora  hovered  over  the  visitor  solicitously,  diverted 
occasionally  by  the  necessity  to  slap  a  twin's  marauding 
hand. 

"Everything's  very  nice,  Nora,"  said  May  Ca'line 
at  last,  "but  I'm  too  tired  as  yet  to  eat  much.  I've 
been  moving,  you  know." 

"But  one  more  cup  of  coffee '11  be  good  for  ye,  mum, 
and  Mr.  Laird  would  be  pleased." 

May  Ca'line  looked  up  again,  surprised  and  grate 
ful.  The  kind  Irish  face  warmed  her  sick  heart. 

"It's  very  good  of  you,  Nora,  not  to  be  sorry  I've 
come,"  she  said.  "It  makes  you  more  work  and  I'd 
love  to  help  you  —  only  —  perhaps  — " 

Nora  horrified  the  speaker  by  sending  down  a  pro 
digious  wink.  "Sure,  I  know,"  she  said  with  a  nod. 
"Don't  ye  fret,  Mrs.  Laird.  It's  me  that  likes  workin' 
fer  a  lady" 

May  Ca'line  bit  her  lip  at  the  emphasis.    This  was 


THE  SECRETARY  63 

awful.  A  servant  speaking  thus  of  Joe's  wife.  Poor 
Joe!  Dear  Joe! 

"Now,  don't  mind  about  yer  room,  either.  Take  yer 
rest.  Ye  look  destroyed  wid  all  yeVe  been  through. 
I'll  do  yer  room." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed,"  returned  the  little  woman  hastily. 
"That  would  never  do.  I  mean  that  I  like  to  do  it.  I 
prefer  it." 

"P'r'aps  yer  right,  mum,"  agreed  Nora  knowingly. 
"  Shut  up,  Ella!  Don't  ye  hear  me  talkin'?" 

"I'm  mad  at  daddy,"  announced  Bob.  His  voice 
gave  promise  of  being  a  basso  profundo  later  on,  while 
Ella's  went  through  the  head  like  a  piccolo. 

"Does  he" —  began  the  visitor,  addressing  Nora, 
but  turning  at  once  to  the  children,  —  "does  daddy  go 
away  sometimes  without  coming  in  to  see  you?" 

"No,"  they  shouted  in  concert.  "I'm  going  to  shoot 
him,"  announced  Bob,  to  which  filial  announcement 
Ella  added,  "And  I'll  pull  his  hair,  I  will."  She  began 
to  beat  her  glass  with  a  spoon,  which  striking  her 
brother  as  a  good  idea  he  chimed  in  with  his  own,  both 
of  them  adding  inarticulate  vocal  obbligatos  of  such 
volume  that  May  Ca'line  involuntarily  lifted  a  hand 
to  the  ear  nearest  them. 

"Tormints!"  ejaculated  Nora.  "Is  it  Injuns  ye  are 
to  make  yer  grandma  deef?  Out  wid  ye!"  She  untied 
their  bibs  and  they  stamped  away  through  the  kitchen 
to  their  perennial  joy,  the  sand-pile. 

May  Ca'line  cast  an  apprehensive  glance  toward  the 
door  by  which  Gladys  was  likely  at  any  moment  to 
enter.  She  felt  that  her  time  was  short. 

"How  —  how  was  my  son  —  how  was  Mr.  Laird 
this  morning?" 


64  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"He's  kind  o'  pinched  lookin'  this  hot  weather.  He 
must  feel  the  heat  a  good  deal,  mum,  or  he  would  n't 
'a'  slept  downstairs." 

"Why,  Nora,  what  makes  you  think  he  did?" 

"I  heerd  him  go  up  airly  to  take  his  tub;  and  he 
was  n't  jokin'  at  breakfast  the  way  he  does  be  with 
me  always.  I  thought  he  was  n't  well,  mebbe." 

Nora  did  not  reveal  the  conclusion  of  her  thought, 
that  some  quarrel  had  arisen  with  her  mistress  on  ac 
count  of  his  mother's  arrival.  When  she  discovered  the 
personality  of  that  mother,  the  whole  situation  aroused 
what  she  was  wont  to  term  her  "Irish";  and  Mr. 
Laird's  last  words  gained  her  hearty  allegiance. 

"Oh — "  May  Ca'line  looked  paler  and  her  hands 
pressed  together  in  her  lap.  Her  diagnosis  agreed  with 
that  of  the  maid.  "Does  Mrs.  Laird  usually  have 
breakfast  with  her  husband?" 

"Oh,  niver,"  responded  Nora.  "Ye '11  be  havin' 
some  nice  visits  with  him  mebbe  whin  ye  get  the  ways 
o'  the  house." 

"I'm  —  I'm  very  sorry  that  he  did  n't  look  well." 

"Sure,  don't  be  frettin',  mum.  He's  young  and 
strong.  We've  a  bit  of  a  porch  and  a  hammock,  p'r'aps 
ye  noticed,  and  he  was  n't  bad  off  if  he  slep'  in  the 
hammock." 

May  Ca'line  said  nothing.  What  should  this  good- 
natured  Irish  girl  know  of  her  crushing  harassment? 

"He  told  me  be  good  to  ye,  before  he  wint,"  said 
Nora,  instinctively  administering  comfort. 

The  mother  looked  up  with  more  life  in  her  troubled 
eyes.  "I'm  glad  he  left  a  message,"  she  said.  "I  have 
a  good  boy,  Nora." 

"  'Deed,  that's  what  ye  have,  mum.    Only  fer  him, 


THE  SECRETARY  65 

I'd  be  out  o'  this  long  ago.  I'd  work  my  fingers  to  the 
bone  fer  Mr.  Laird." 

Meanwhile  the  object  of  her  loyalty  had  arrived  at 
his  desk  in  the  anteroom  of  his  employer's  sanctum. 
As  he  passed  through  the  outer  office  many  pairs  of 
eyes  followed  him  enviously.  Laird  had  a  soft  snap, 
was  the  universal  verdict. 

He  sat  down  at  the  desk  and  began  sorting  and  open 
ing  the  mail.  Soon  the  handle  of  the  door  turned.  Mr. 
Breed  might  have  granted  him  a  longer  leave  of  ab 
sence.  He  was  not  particularly  anxious  to  see  that 
gray-mustached  glass  of  fashion  and  mould  of  form 
from  whom  he  received  his  salary;  that  immobile, 
strong  face  which  concealed  the  perfect  mechanism  of 
a  famous  business  brain. 

He  absorbed  himself  more  fully.  Mr.  Breed  occa 
sionally  failed  to  accost  him  as  he  passed  through,  and 
Joe  hoped  he  would  do  so  this  time. 

A  scent  of  violets  stole  faintly  across  the  summer 
air.  The  secretary  became  aware  that  whoever  had 
entered  had  not  advanced.  He  had  occasionally  dis 
couraged  the  catapult-like  interruption  of  an  office  boy, 
but  the  opposite  extreme  of  hesitation  was  equally 
irritating. 

He  turned  suddenly.  A  laughing  girl-face  met  him, 
the  face  whose  dimples  he  knew  very  well.  The  visitor 
was  dressed  in  a  white  costume  which  managed  to  be 
both  crisp  and  clinging.  Her  hat  was  veiled  in  white. 
She  was  fresh  as  Aurora  and  the  infinite  soreness 
within  Joe's  breast  beat  at  the  encounter  with  her 
sparkling  eyes. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  did  not  advance. 

"Beg  pardon,  Miss  Vivian,"  he  said,  unsmiling. 


66  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"What  for?"  she  asked  gayly. 

"I  don't  know  whether  your  father  has  come." 

"I  do  know  that  he  has  n't;  but  he  will  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes.  He  drove  in  unusually  early  this  morning 
and  I  came  in  with  him  to  do  a  few  errands." 

She  paused  and  the  secretary,  seeing  that  she  ex 
pected  an  answer,  spoke  again.  "He  is  usually  later," 
he  said  rather  stiffly.  He  crossed  to  the  door  of  the 
sanctum  arid  opened  it. 

The  girl  stood  still.  "I'm  afraid  you  have  a  head 
ache,  Mr.  Laird,"  she  said  gently,  scrutinizing  his  pale 
face. 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  he  rejoined  hastily, 
hating  himself  for  his  dullness,  but  the  very  soul  with 
in  him  stiff  with  repugnance  and  misery.  This  cool, 
charming  apparition  had  no  part  in  his  world,  nor 
could  even  understand  it.  He  beheld  suddenly  the 
mental  image  of  the  home  from  which  she  had  just 
emerged.  He  stood  holding  the  door  open  and  the 
dimple  sank  again  in  her  cheek. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  shut  me  up  in  there?"  she 
asked. 

He  dropped  his  hold  on  the  door  handle  and  made 
a  rather  poor  essay  at  a  smile. 

"Far  be  it  from  me,"  he  returned.  "May  I  offer  you 
the  hospitality  of  my  electric  fan?" 

"Indeed  you  may."  She  sank  into  the  chair  he  placed 
in  the  breeze,  and  again  it  seemed  as  if  there  might  be 
violets  growing  around  the  desk.  He  took  his  own 
chair  again  and  awaited  the  next  remark.  His  taci 
turnity  seemed  to  pique  her.  She  had  known  him  as 
an  easily  responsive  and  rather  merry  soul  on  the  few 
occasions  when  her  father's  exigencies  had  brought 


THE  SECRETARY  67 

him  to  their  home  and  she  had  shown  him  some  trifling 
courtesy;  but  until  the  first  wound  of  his  tragic  awak 
ening  should  cease  its  acute  pain,  any  contact  with  the 
world  of  refinement,  from  which  he  was  shut  out  for 
ever,  caused  him  anguish.  No  one  could  have  come 
into  the  office  this  morning  so  unwelcome  as  this  fa 
vorite  debutante  of  the  season,  fresh  from  the  society 
columns. 

"Ferdy  was  asking  the  other  day  when  you  were 
coming  up  again,"  she  said.  "  Ferdy  seemed  to  take  a 
great  fancy  to  you." 

"I  hope  he  is  better."   Joe's  reply  was  automatic. 

"Yes,  of  course,  we  tell  ourselves  every  day  that  he 
improves."  The  gay  light  faded  from  the  girl's  face. 
"It  is  so  hard  to  be  sure  in  chronic  cases.  It's  dread 
ful  for  daddy,  you  can  understand.  His  only  son." 
The  speaker  caught  her  lips  under  her  pretty  teeth, 
and  through  Joe's  stiff  armor  crept  the  realization  that 
beauty,  money,  and  envied  smartness  could  not  keep 
the  heart  from  aching. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  returned.  "I  knew  he  was  con 
fined  to  a  chair,  but  I  did  n't  know  what  was  the 
matter." 

"Nor  any  one  else.  Doctors  say  that  nervous  trou 
bles  are  capricious  and  baffling.  Ferdy's  spine  seems 
affected.  Now  his  eyes  trouble  him  a  great  deal  and 
that  is  the  greatest  trial  of  all.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  wicked 
sometimes  to  ride  and  swim  and  dance  and  play  tennis 
and  golf  when  he,  a  boy,  has  more  right  to  be  doing  all 
these  things." 

The  appealing  expression  of  the  girl's  eyes  as  she 
said  this,  as  though  she  longed  for  comfort,  was  flat 
tering. 


68  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"I'm  sure  you  are  a  tonic  to  your  brother  just  be 
cause  you  do  all  these  things.  You  bring  so  much  of 
the  world  to  him." 

The  girl's  face  slowly  cleared  as  the  two  pairs  of 
eyes  remained  fixed  in  a  mutual  gaze.  Her  color  deep 
ened  in  the  silence  that  followed.  She  wanted  to  under 
stand  his  mood.  She  saw  that  he  was  either  unhappy 
or  bored,  and  instinctively  she  felt  that  he  was  not  the 
sort  of  man  to  be  bored.  He  had  too  firm  a  chin;  too 
much  initiative.  He  was  too  young.  She  wished  she 
knew  him  better.  He  had  had  a  singular  attraction  for 
her  each  time  she  had  met  him,  although  in  her  rushed 
life  she  forgot  him  between  times.  Now,  as  she  regarded 
him,  she  determined  not  to  forget  him.  He  looked  tired, 
even  haggard.  Perhaps  he  did  n't  have  play  enough. 
She  wondered  if  he  had  plenty  of  friends.  Her  next 
question  was  a  surprise.  "Have  you  always  lived  here, 
Mr.  Laird?" 

"No,  I  came  from  a  little  country  town  when  I  was 
a  youngster,  like  thousands  of  other  youngsters,  to 
seek  my  fortune  in  the  city.  I  was  n't  barefooted  and 
I  had  more  than  a  dime  in  my  pocket;  so,  of  course,  I 
shall  never  be  a  millionaire." 

She  laughed;  then  grew  very  serious. 

"Do  you  have  plenty  of  fun?"  she  asked,  and  her 
wistful  naivete  was  very  gentle  and  engaging. 

He  recognized  the  implication  that  he  looked  as  if 
he  needed  it,  and  tried  to  assume  a  light  air. 

"Your  father's  secretary  should  not  be  a  frivolous 
person,"  he  replied. 

She  shook  her  head.  "Father  works  people  too  hard; 
I  know  it,"  she  said. 

"Himself  included,"  added  Joe. 


THE  SECRETARY  69 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  father  is  quite  wonderful.  Every 
body  says  so." 

Her  companion  made  no  response  to  this  and  she 
continued  to  regard  him  thoughtfully.  He  was  so  very 
good-looking!  So  presentable  in  every  way.  She  won 
dered  —  and  while  she  was  wondering  the  door  opened 
again  and  Adam  Breed  came  in.  He  cast  a  quick  glance 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  quiet  young  people,  and 
his  secretary's  impassive  face  underwent  no  change  of 
expression  as  he  rose  and  stood. 

" Good-morning,  Laird.  Now,  then,  Vivian."  He 
held  open  the  inner  door  and  she  smiled  at  Joe:  "Thank 
you  for  your  hospitality,  Mr.  Laird."  She  passed  out 
of  sight  and  her  father  turned  to  his  secretary. 

"The  old  story,  Laird.  She  has  come  to  hold  me  up. 
I'll  see  you  in  a  few  minutes."  Then  he  followed  his 
daughter  and  closed  the  door. 

Joe  sat  down,  his  elbows  on  the  desk  and  his  head 
in  his  hands.  All  of  it:  the  whiteness,  the  gentleness, 
the  refinement,  gone.  Gone  as  irrevocably  from  him  as 
that  evanescent  scent  of  violets. 

Many  times  that  day  he  heard  again  the  music  of 
the  solicitous  girlish  voice,  uttering  its  unconscious 
irony:  "Do  you  have  plenty  of  fun?" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ADAM  BREED 

VIVIAN  sat  down  in  the  chair  beside  her  father's 
desk.  Joe  Laird  had  said  to  his  mother  that  the 
hard  man  with  whom  he  earned  his  daily  bread  had 
his  soft  spots,  and  the  expression  with  which  he  now 
regarded  his  daughter  betrayed  that  she  was  respon 
sible  for  at  least  one  of  them.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  her 
eyes  were  distrait. 

"Well,  then,"  he  began,  seating  himself  and  pulling 
his  check-book  forward,  "what  does  the  insatiable  one 
require  to-day?  Are  n't  your  bills  enough  for  you?" 

"What?  Oh,  yes.  I  don't  have  bills  everywhere,  you 
see."  Her  reply  was  dreamy,  her  gaze  still  abstracted. 

Mr.  Breed  asked  no  further.  He  wrote  a  check,  tore 
it  off,  and  pushed  it  toward  her. 

"You're  a  big  girl,  now,  Vivian;  a  grand  society 
lady  in  fact.  It's  time  you  stopped  asking  your  dad 
for  money.  Why  have  n't  you  wanted  your  own  bank 
account?" 

The  girl's  gaze  returned  to  her  father.  "Because  if 
I  let  you  allowance  me  you  would  find  out  how  extrav 
agant  I  am.  It  was  all  very  well  at  college,  but  when 
I  came  out  into  the  land  of  clothes  and  functions  I  felt 
it  was  much  safer  to  rely  on  your  generosity.  Poor 
daddy,  you're  an  angel.  Haven't  I  led  you  a  chase 
all  winter?" 

"I  don't  know.  I've  had  a  good  many  assistant 
chaperons." 


ADAM  BREED  71 

"  Yes,  indeed."  Vivian  nodded  her  head  wisely.  "As 
if  I  did  n't  know  that  some  of  them  would  accept  a 
permanent  position." 

"What's  this?  My  small  daughter  becoming  sus 
picious  and  cynical?" 

"Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that.  I  have  very  good  eyes, 
though,  and  I  think,  myself,  that  my  dad's  a  charmer." 

"What's  the  matter?   Is  n't  the  check  big  enough?" 

Vivian  laughed  and  put  it  in  her  purse.  "No,  it's 
not  flattery.  I'm  getting  to  be  a  connoisseur  of  men, 
that's  all,  and  I've  decided  that  my  daddy  is  the  top 
of  the  heap." 

Adam  Breed,  his  hands  folded  on  the  desk,  had  given 
himself  up  to  watching  her  piquant  freshness.  "I  see 
that  bank  account  has  got  to  be  a  whopper,"  he  re 
marked.  "Well,  I  haven't  seen  any  girl  that  eclipses 
you  either.  Come,  now,  is  n't  that  handsome?" 

"I  should  n't  be  jealous  if  you  did,  daddy."  Vivian's 
eyes  rested  upon  him  with  the  same  wistfulness  with 
which  a  few  minutes  ago  she  had  regarded  his  secre 
tary.  "You've  been  alone  so  many  years  —  and  have 
been  so  splendid." 

Her  father  smiled.  "Alphonse  and  Gaston  have 
nothing  on  us,"  he  said.  "What  is  this?  A  tournament 
of  pretty  speeches  ?  What  are  you  leading  up  to  ?  What 
do  you  want  so  badly?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  Vivian,  with  unnecessary  warmth 
of  denial  and  a  rush  of  color  over  cheek  and  brow. 
"I'm  sincere." 

Her  father  sighed.  "My  dear,  if  you  can  always 
blush  like  that  there  will  be  no  end  to  your  social  suc 


cess." 


"I'm  not  blushing,"  protested  Vivian.   "You  should 


72  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

not  tease  in  such  warm  weather."  Then,  with  a  deter 
mined  rush,  "Did  you  notice,  daddy,  how  pale  Mr. 
Laird  is?" 

"Can't  say  I  did,  my  dear." 

"Oh,  I  wish  everybody  had  as  good  a  time  as  we 
do"  —  the  girl  clasped  her  white-gloved  hands  and  met 
her  father's  regard. 

He  nodded.  "You're  a  mighty  nice  child,  and  re 
markably  unspoiled,"  he  remarked  judicially. 

"I  suddenly  had  an  idea  when  I  saw  how  rather  stiff 
and  pale  he  looked.  You  know  what  a  fancy  Ferdy 
took  to  him.  Why  not  invite  Mr.  Laird  to  our  fete  next 
week.  You've  often  said  business  and  social  life  should 
not  be  mixed,  but  I  wish  you'd  consent  to  this,  daddy. 
He  needs  something  to  —  to  enliven  him.  He  looks  as 
if  he  needed  just  a  good  time.  Do  let  me,  father.  He 
is  a  gentleman.  I've  seen  him  a  good  many  times  and 
I  feel  that  he  must  come  of  nice  people,  as  if  he  had  a 
lovely  mother." 

The  gloved  hands  were  still  tightly  clasped.  The 
girl's  eyes  were  luminous  and  her  cheeks  glowed  with 
a  steady  color  as  she  made  her  impulsive  speech. 

Her  father's  expression  did  not  change  and  he  con 
tinued  to  meet  her  look  appreciatively. 

"That  would  be  all  very  well,"  he  returned  quietly. 
"You  can  always  do  with  an  extra  man,  but  how  about 
his  wife?" 

"His  wife!"  Vivian  echoed  the  words  with  such 
amazement  and  such  a  disconcerted  air  that  again  a 
smile  curved  Adam  Breed's  gray  mustache.  "But  he's 
so  young  I" 

"Verily;  nevertheless  he  has  two  sturdy  youngsters 
with  a  surprising  and  precocious  vocabulary." 


ADAM  BREED  73 

The  girl  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  apparently  for  the 
moment  speechless. 

Her  father  proceeded:  "I  see  you  are  not  keen  to 
invite  the  wife;  and  you're  more  right  than  you  know. 
She's  a  fool." 

Why  Vivian  should  feel  this  news  to  be  a  personal 
humiliation,  and  yet  take  an  odd  sort  of  comfort  in  it, 
a  psychologist  might  explain.  The  eager  glow  had 
died  from  her  face,  and  her  gaze  was  serious. 

"You  've  seen  her,  then." 

"Yes,  I  called  at  the  house."  The  speaker  gave  a 
whimsical,  reminiscent  smile.  "I'll  do  anything  once." 

"That's  the  only  time?" 

"Quite  so.  There  may  be  worse-behaved  children, 
but  I've  never  seen  them;  and  the  mother  is  impos 
sible." 

"Is  she  pretty?"  asked  Vivian. 

"Yes,  a  bold,  poster-variety  of  good  looks." 

"It's  strange,  isn't  it,  the  difference  in  people's 
tastes."  Vivian  was  opening  and  closing  her  purse. 

"Yes,  and  very  convenient  it  would  be  if  the  tastes 
of  husbands  and  wives  could  remain  unchanged." 

"Do  you  think  —  Mr.  Laird  has  changed  —  do  you 
think  he's  unhappy?"  Vivian's  tentative  manner  sud 
denly  altered  to  one  of  indignant  decision.  "What  a 
foolish  question!  I  did  n't  mean  to  ask  it." 

Her  former  abstraction  seemed  to  have  seized  her 
father.  He  looked  away  from  her  and  played  with  a 
paper-cutter  on  his  desk.  "Laird  is  a  problem  to  me," 
he  said.  "I  took  him  because  I  liked  him.  I  went  to 
his  home  to  see  and  understand  his  environment  and 
decide  how  safely  I  might  advance  him.  1  found  that 
pert  and  tawdry  person  and  the  children  she  was  allow- 


74  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

ing  to  come  up  on  her  own  lines,  and  I  knew  the  poor 
chap  was  doomed.  With  that  ball  and  chain  attach 
ment  there  was  no  hope  for  him.  Money  would  slip 
through  that  wife's  fingers,  and  if  it  did  n't,  if  he  suc 
ceeded  in  establishing  some  discipline,  yet  there  she 
was.  Whatever  heights  he  might  rise  to  —  and  he  is  a 
very  alert  and  competent  fellow  —  there  she  would  be 
beside  him.  He  has  made  his  bed.  For  the  children's 
sake  he  must  lie  in  it."  The  hard  Adam  Breed  known 
to  the  business  world  was  speaking. 

Vivian  drew  a  sudden  involuntary  deep  breath.  "It 
is  a  tragedy,"  she  said  crisply,  and  rose. 

"You  are  entirely  right,  my  dear."  Her  father  fol 
lowed  her  movement.  "It's  a  tragedy  and  we  can't  do 
anything." 

He  was  rather  surprised  at  the  indignation  in  the 
look  she  flashed  upon  him.  "Of  course  we  can't  do  any 
thing.  That  is  two  people's  business  entirely,"  she  said 
with  a  novel  air  of  maturity. 

He  smoothed  his  mustache  and  his  cold  eyes  twin 
kled.  "The  fete  invitation  is  off,  then,  I  judge?" 

She  flashed  him  another  look.   "Good-bye,"  she  said. 

He  opened  the  door  for  her.  The  secretary  rose  from 
his  desk. 

"Shall  Laird  show  you  to  the  car,  my  dear?" 

"No,  indeed.   Quite  unnecessary." 

Joe's  eyes  followed  her  as  she  passed  and  she  did  not 
seem  at  all  the  soft,  sympathetic  creature  who  had  en 
tered  the  sanctum.  She  gave  him  a  little  unsmiling  nod 
as  she  flitted  through  the  door  he  held  open  for  her. 
Her  heart  was  beating  fast  and  she  felt  absurdly  hu 
miliated  as  she  went  out  to  the  car,  slipped  on  her  silken 
dust-coat,  and  gave  her  order  to  the  chauffeur. 


ADAM  BREED  75 

Joe's  teeth  closed  tight  and  that  line  in  his  forehead 
deepened.  "What  has  the  Governor  said  to  her?"  was 
his  mental  question  as  he  stood  for  a  time  motionless. 
Then  he  threw  up  his  hands  and  returned  to  his  desk. 
What  could  the  change  of  mood  in  a  great  lady  possibly 
matter  to  him?  He  had  his  job;  his  life  job;  his  life  sen 
tence  as  the  comic  papers  have  it.  Well,  many  a  true 
word  is  spoken  in  jest. 

"Now,  then,  Laird,  I'll  see  you."  Mr.  Breed  stood 
in  his  open  door. 

Joe  gathered  up  the  mail  he  had  selected,  went  inside 
the  sanctum,  and  took  the  chair  Vivian  had  just  va 
cated.  Again  he  looked  about  involuntarily  for  violets. 
He  frowned. 

Mr.  Breed  remembered  his  daughter's  comments 
and  scrutinized  his  secretary  as  he  had  not  done  for 
many  a  day.  He  was  surprised  at  Joe's  haggard  ap 
pearance.  Even  youth  will  show  the  effect  of  a  sleep 
less  night  of  mental  anguish. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "did  you  get  the  mother?" 

"I  did,  sir." 

"Is  she  —  is  she  quite  well?" 

"I  think  so.  She's  naturally  very  tired.  There  are  a 
good  many  things  to  see  to  in  closing  up  a  home." 

"H'm,  of  course."  Mr.  Breed  drummed  on  the  desk. 
"She  will  stay  with  you  now  permanently?" 

"Certainly.  I'm  her  only  son.  This  letter  from 
San  Francisco  you  will  wish  to  see  first.  I  think  that — " 

"That  will  increase  your  expenses,  Laird." 

This  interruption  a  week  ago  would  have  caused 
excited  hopefulness  in  the  breast  of  the  private  secre 
tary.  Now  his  numbness  felt  no  flutter. 

"If  you  saw  her  you  would  n't  think  so,"  he  said, 


76  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

forcing  a  smile.    "She  is  more  like  a  wraith  than  a 


woman.'3 


Adam  Breed's  wandering  look  fixed  with  concentra 
tion  on  the  other's  face.  "  You  said  she  was  very  well." 

Joe  looked  up  with  some  surprise.  Were  mothers 
one  of  the  soft  spots  of  his  employer? 

"You  see,  I  don't  really  know,"  he  replied;  "I'm 
ashamed  to  say  I  have  n't  seen  her  for  a  year  until 


now." 


"Well,  take  care  of  her,  Laird.  I  think  you  said  she 
has  lived  alone.  It  is  n't  good  for  one." 

"No,  especially  when  they're  getting  on.  My  mother 
will  be  fifty  soon." 

"Forty-seven,"  remarked  Adam  Breed  to  his  paper- 
cutter. 

Joe  looked  up.   "What  —  what  did  you  say,  sir?" 

His  employer  smoothed  his  mustache.  "I  said  — 
what  did  I  say?  What  I  want  to  say  is  that  I'm  very 
glad  you  have  taken  her  home.  A  mother  is  a  precious 
possession.  From  your  description  I  judge  she  is  very 
delicate." 

"Yes,  she  looks  so;  but  she  keeps  about  and  never 
complains." 

A  lump  rose  in  the  speaker's  throat.  The  numbness 
in  his  breast  felt  a  throb  that  suddenly  tore  it.  The 
brightness  of  many  an  unanswered  letter;  the  coarse 
ness  of  her  reception  in  his  home,  all  swept  across  him 
in  a  well-nigh  unbearable  pain.  His  face  flushed  and 
Adam  Breed  read  something  of  the  suffering  there. 

"I'll  see  to  it,"  he  said  hastily.  "Your  income  shall 
be  better  able  to  meet  the  demand."  Joe  was  unable 
for  the  moment  even  to  utter  thanks.  "Now  we'll  have 
that  San  Francisco  letter,"  added  Mr.  Breed. 


ADAM  BREED  77 

When  May  Ca'line  left  the  breakfast-table  that 
morning  she  intended  to  go  directly  upstairs  to  put  her 
room  in  order.  Her  venerable  trunk  would  arrive  soon, 
and  it  was  going  to  be  a  puzzle  to  decide  on  a  spot  to 
place  it.  As  she  entered  the  living-room  voices  in  the 
hall  arrested  her  and  she  waited  till  the  corridor  should 
be  free. 

Her  daughter-in-law  was  speaking  in  a  tone  she  had 
not  heard  her  use;  a  laughing  voice,  gay  but  pettish. 
"I  do  wish  you'd  give  me  time  to  get  dressed  in  the 
morning,  Henry." 

A  man's  voice  responded : "  But  the  nights  are  so  long." 

"Oh,  go  away,  you  silly  boy!" 

"I  will  if  you  will  go  too.  The  car  is  just  around  the 
corner,  you're  so  fussy  about  its  being  in  front  here." 

"You  overdid  it,  Henry,  and  this  is  a  neighborhood 
of  cats." 

"Well,  come  on." 

"I  can't.  I  have  n't  had  my  breakfast  yet;  and  look 
at  this  costume  for  motoring." 

The  man's  low  voice  sounded  very  assured  as  he  re 
plied:  "Oh,  I  can  hang  around  for  half  an  hour." 

"Now,  quit.  Don't  you  touch  my  hair,"  laughing. 
"How  many  times  must  I  tell  you ?  Will  you  let  me  take 
the  children?" 

"I  should  say  not." 

"Very  well,  then.  You  know  I  told  you  the  last  time 
that  I  must  n't  go  alone  with  you  any  more  for  those 
long  trips." 

A  pause;  then  the  man  spoke.  "I  can't  get  you  out 
of  my  head,  and  —  it's  a  great  day,  Gladys." 

Her  voice  was  subdued  as  she  replied:  "I  know  it  and 
I'm  crazy  to  go." 


78  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Then,  come." 

"No;  not  this  time,  not  just  yet.  Joe's  mother — " 
her  voice  fell  and  May  Ca'line  lost  the  rest.  She  had 
been  so  full  of  her  own  problems  that  she  had  been  slow 
to  realize  that  she  was  eavesdropping. 

With  beating  heart  she  had  just  started  to  make  a 
hasty  retreat  to  the  dining-room  when  the  front  door 
slammed  and  Gladys,  still  in  the  pink  negligee,  and  with 
her  luxuriant  black  hair  twisted  up  carelessly,  entered 
the  living-room.  A  light  of  excitement  burned  in  her 
eyes,  and  she  started  at  sight  of  May  Ca'line,  who  faced 
her  like  a  frightened  little  animal  at  bay,  her  very  throat 
palpitating. 

"Oh,  are  you  through  breakfast?"  said  Gladys,  flush 
ing  and  speaking  carelessly.  "Did  you  hear  that  man 
coming  at  such  a  crazy  hour?  He's  a  great  friend  of 
Joe's  and  his  business  makes  him  have  to  drive  around 
in  a  motor  and  he  hates  to  go  alone.  He'll  take  any 
body  he  can  get  to  go  with  him.  He's  so  fond  of  Joe 
and  the  children,  he  thinks  he  can  be  as  informal  here 
as  he  pleases.  I  hope  you  had  a  good  breakfast.  I  must 
go  after  mine  now." 

This  surprising  volubility  left  May  Ca'line  cold.  It 
flashed  sickeningly  upon  the  mother  that  the  man 
whose  back  she  had  caught  sight  of  through  the  open 
window,  as  he  descended  the  walk,  might  be  a  main 
reason  for  the  lack  of  her  own  welcome  in  her  daughter- 
in-law's  house. 

All  she  had  suffered  before  seemed  as  nothing  to  her 
emotion  now. 

She  climbed  the  stairs  to  her  uncomfortable  room 
and  exhorted  herself  not  to  be  hasty.  Perhaps  it  was 
true  that  this  man  was  devoted  to  Joe  and  the  chil- 


ADAM  BREED  79 

dren,  but  the  first  thing  she  had  heard  him  say,  at  the 
time  meaning  nothing,  gained  a  sinister  sound  as  it 
repeated  itself  insistently.  Why,  if  he  loved  the  chil 
dren,  did  he  so  decidedly  refuse  their  company?  It  was 
no  strain  to  suppose  that  any  one  would  decline  their 
wrangling  companionship;  but  as  suspicious  as  any 
thing  she  had  overheard,  was  Gladys's  start  when  she 
saw  her,  and  the  sudden  good-nature  toward  one  she 
had  evidently  deliberately  determined  to  insult. 

May  Ca'line  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  couch. 
Accident  had  now  given  her  what  is  ordinarily  called 
the  whip  hand  over  her  daughter-in-law,  and  she  felt 
faint  at  the  thought.  She  had  been  slowly  making  up 
her  mind  to  tell  Joe,  as  gently  as  might  be,  that  she 
felt  that  she  and  his  wife  would  both  be  happier  if  he 
could  possibly  afford  to  give  her  a  little  room  elsewhere, 
but  near  them.  Now  she  decided  that  could  not  be. 
Her  place  was  here  to  give  what  protection  to  Joe's 
wife  her  presence  might  afford,  no  matter  how  unwel 
come. 

She  warned  herself  against  exaggeration  in  her  esti 
mate  of  Gladys.  The  girl  was  young  and  vain,  and 
doubtless  Joe  had  n't  time,  money,  or  energy  to  woo 
and  amuse  her  as  he  had  done  before  the  children  came. 
They  were  in  a  hard  place.  She  must  keep  her  head 
cool  and  help  —  help  Joe. 


CHAPTER  IX 

OVERTURES- 

GLADYS  LAIRD  ate  her  breakfast  in  a  resentful 
mood,  which  even  the  remembrance  of  her  ad 
mirer's  frankly  covetous  eyes  could  not  brighten. 
Why  had  she  been  so  careless  as  to  forget  for  the 
moment  all  about  Joe's  mother,  and  that  she  might 
be  within  hearing?  Of  course  she  would  be  a  cat. 

"I  refused  to  go.  She  heard  that,  whatever  else  she 
heard.  I  must  tell  Henry  not  to  come  here.  That's  all." 

Gladys  bit  her  toast  vindictively.  She  could  hear 
the  couch  being  moved  as  Mrs.  Laird  made  her  bed. 

Unpacking  gave  May  Ca'line  an  excuse  to  remain 
in  her  room  all  the  morning.  When  the  lunch-bell  rang 
she  admonished  herself  with  remembrance  of  Martha 
Berry  and  descended  with  as  matter-of-fact  an  air  as 
she  could  muster. 

The  children  were  having  their  hands  washed  in  the 
kitchen  and  their  mother  brought  them  in.  They  were 
all  laughing,  and  the  twins  each  loudly  declared  their 
intention  to  sit  beside  the  mother. 

"Behave  yourselves,"  Gladys  good-naturedly  or 
dered.  "Now  Mrs.  Laird  is  here  you  can  sit  one  on 
each  side  of  me,"  And  she  moved  the  high  chairs  close 
to  her  own  and  the  children  climbed  up. 

"She  isn't  Mrs.  Laird,"  declared  Ella.  "You're 
Mrs.  Laird.  She's  grandma." 

May  Ca'line  took  her  place  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table. 


OVERTURES  81 

"Have  it  your  own  way,"  said  Gladys.  "Perhaps 
she  does  n't  like  to  be  called  grandma." 

"I  think  it's  a  lovely  name,"  said  May  Ca'line.  The 
heat  had  waved  her  hair  in  extra  rings  about  her  tem-r 
pies  and  neck  and  brought  color  to  her  thin  cheeks. 

Gladys  gave  her  a  quick  glance.  "She  must  have 
been  a  pretty  girl,"  she  thought. 

Being  alert  for  signs  of  disapproval  on  account  of 
the  incident  of  the  morning,  Gladys  was  glad  that  the 
twins  had  one  of  their  spasms  of  affection.  Each  leaned 
a  head  against  the  mother's  shoulder  and  May  Ca'line 
looked  at  the  pretty  picture  with  pleasure.  Gladys 
quickly  kissed  each  little  forehead. 

"Now,  sit  up,  darlings,  and  eat  your  lunch,"  she 
said.  "You  know  we're  going  to  the  movie." 

She  looked  across  at  her  mother-in-law.  "Blessings 
on  movies  and  trolley  cars,"  she  said,  laughing  because 
the  twins  were  vying  with  each  other  as  to  which  could 
reach  farthest  around  her  plump  shoulders  and  squeeze 
her  the  tightest. 

"You  must  go  to  the  movie  with  us,  Mrs.  Laird," 
she  said  graciously.  "The  theater  is  only  two  squares 
away." 

May  Ca'line  hesitated,  but  for  every  reason  she  felt 
that  she  should  accept  the  friendly  overture. 

A  few  minutes  more  found  the  four  en  route.  May 
Ca'line  soon  discovered  that  the  theater  was  the  neigh 
borhood  Mecca.  Children  of  all  ages  were  in  the  audi 
ence.  One  suddenly  waking  up  in  the  hall  would  have 
believed  himself  in  a  nursery. 

The  house  darkened  to  reveal  the  first  scene  of  a 
farce,  and  the  children  shouted  with  glee  at  the  frowsy 
women  and  drunken  men  who  fell  into  horse-tubs  or 


m  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

whitewash  buckets,  drove  each  other  about  with  brooms, 
made  catapults  of  custard  pies  and  used  the  Irishman's 
simple  rule  of  life,  "Whenever  you  see  a  head,  hit  it"; 
and  toward  the  end,  armed  with  revolvers,  shot  at 
everybody  as  impartially. 

May  Ca'line  was  simply  appalled  at  the  precocity 
displayed  by  the  juvenile  portion  of  the  audience.  Any 
child  old  enough  to  walk  alone,  displayed  in  his  com 
ments  an  unbelievable  sophistication. 

In  the  play  which  followed,  the  same  canniness  was 
observable.  The  scene  was  laid  in  the  wild  West.  The 
feats  of  the  cowboys,  the  abduction  of  the  heroine,  the 
wild  race  for  the  mountain  cabin,  made  May  Ca'line' s 
heart  stand  still.  The  twins  recognized  the  hero  ap 
pearing  timely  on  the  scene,  long  before  May  Ca'line 
did.  They  clapped  their  tiny  hands  and  jumped  up 
and  down  in  their  seats,  adding  their  cheers  to  those 
that  sprang  from  dozens  of  short  larynxes  who  ap 
plauded  the  dire  revenge  which  exhausted  the  hero's 
ample  armory  and  left  the  woods  strewn  with  the  dead 
and  dying. 

May  Ca'line  looked  at  Gladys,  who  was  placidly 
chewing  gum  and  viewing  the  scene  with  blase  eyes. 
"Aren't  there  any  babies  any  more?"  she  thought 
piteously.  She  left  the  theater  bewildered. 

Her  son  felt  that  the  return  home  this  evening 
started  a  new  chapter  in  his  life.  Mr.  Breed's  interest 
and  willingness  to  raise  his  salary  had  caused  him  to 
write  to  Simon  Berry  as  follows :  — 

DEAR  MR.  BERRY:  — 

I  am  enclosing  the  payment  of  my  mother's  grocery  bill, 
and  in  so  doing,  wish  to  thank  you  for  extending  credit  to 
her.  I  admit  that  I  deserved  the  comments  which  you  made 


ADAM  BREED  83 

on  my  lack  of  consideration,  and  I  assure  you  that  it  is  my 
intention  to  try  to  make  up  for  it  for  the  rest  of  her  life. 

Please  give  my  sincere  thanks  to  Mrs.  Berry,  and  to  Miss 
Woodward,  when  you  see  her,  for  the  help  they  gave  my 
mother  in  the  hard  circumstances  under  which  she  left  Lea- 
cock.  I  feel  more  grateful  to  them  than  I  can  express. 

Yours  sincerely, 

JOSEPH  LAIRD. 


CHAPTER  X 

AT  EVENING 

GLADYS  continued  to  regard  her  mother-in-law 
with  a  mental  attitude  of  armed  neutrality  during 
the  remainder  of  the  afternoon.  She  tried  to  discover  in 
her  behavior  whether  that  untoward  event  of  the  morn 
ing  was  remembered  against  her;  but  May  Ca'line 
was  too  completely  a  stranger  for  her  to  make  any  es 
timate.  Was  she  or  was  she  not  a  cat?  Would  she 
or  would  she  not  make  trouble  between  husband  and 
wife,  if  the  question  was  one  of  her  own  maternal  pride  ? 
Would  she  attach  importance  to  anything  so  trivial? 

Gladys  made  several  occasions  during  the  day  to 
speak  affectionately  of  Joe,  and  the  little  love-scene 
between  her  and  the  children  at  the  lunch-table  had 
been  all  any  one  could  ask.  Surely  a  woman  with  such 
anchors  was  safe. 

Yet  poor  little  May  Ca'line's  heart  beat  faster  each 
time  certain  endearing  tones  and  words  of  the  morning 
recurred  to  her,  and  they  had  haunted  her  all  day.  Her 
fingers  knotted  together.  A  married  flirt  had  always 
been  an  abomination  in  her  eyes.  Leacock  knew  no 
half-tones.  Women  there  were  rated  either  as  good  or 
bad. 

At  six  o'clock  the  twins  were  called  in  to  have  their 
supper  and  go  to  bed. 

"Don't  they  sit  up  to  see  their  father?"  asked  May 
Ca'line. 

"I  should  say  not,"  returned  Gladys.  "When  I  once 


AT  EVENING  85 

get  them  washed  I'm  not  going  through  the  dressing 
operation  again.  We  have  to  live  so  far  out  of  the 
world  for  economy's  sake  that  Joe  gets  home  very  late 
to  dinner." 

Gladys  was  with  his  mother  on  the  porch  when  he 
arrived.  May  Ca'line  discerned  his  tall  form  through 
the  cucumber  vines.  She  sat  still  and  Gladys  ran  down 
the  steps  to  meet  him. 

"Oh,"  thought  the  mother,  "why  did  I  go  into  the 
living-room  this  morning!"  If  only  she  were  in  igno 
rance,  she  could  take  such  satisfaction  in  the  hearty 
greeting  bestowed  on  her  boy.  He  came  up  the  steps 
and  saw  her. 

"That's  the  little  mother,"  he  said,  and,  approach 
ing,  kissed  her  where  she  sat  in  the  piazza  chair.  Gladys 
was  still  hanging  on  his  arm. 

"This  has  been  a  scorcher,  hasn't  it?  Now,  then, 
mother,  for  a  wash  and  down  again  in  five  minutes. 
Feeling  a  little  rested,  are  you?" 

"Yes,  dear,  and  you,  I  hope." 

Dinner  that  night  was  a  tolerably  agreeable  meal. 
Gladys,  by  no  means  yet  entirely  at  ease,  assumed  no 
sulky  air,  and  Nora  waited  on  them  all  like  a  solicitous 
hen  among  her  brood. 

"Seems  to  me  our  mother  looks  rather  pretty  to 
night,"  said  Joe,  for  a  flush  of  excitement  was  on  May 
Ca'line's  cheeks.  She  was  wearing  a  faded  blue-sprigged 
muslin  which  on  other  summers  had  attended  church 
at  Leacock.  It  was  shabby  and  clean  like  everything 
else  she  possessed.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  say 
something,  no  matter  how  hard  her  heart  beat,  and 
she  was  biding  her  time  until  Nora  should  be  out  of 
hearing;  but  Nora  could  not  trust  any  of  them  to  con- 


86  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

duct  their  dinners  properly,  and  she  popped  in  and  out 
of  the  room  so  assiduously  that  it  was  not  until  the 
three  were  seated  on  the  porch  and  twilight  was  far 
advanced  that  May  Ca'line  found  her  opportunity. 

"You  don't  smoke,  do  you,  Joe?"  she  said,  clearing 
her  throat. 

Gladys  was  sitting  in  the  swing,  her  buff  frock  pale 
against  the  dark  vines.  "Have  n't  you  found  out  that 
we  don't  do  anything  that  costs  money?"  she  rejoined. 
"Come  here  and  sit  with  me,  Joe;  there's  plenty  of 


room." 


"This  is  all  right,"  he  returned  from  his  place  on  the 
piazza  rail.  "I  get  a  little  breeze." 

May  Ca'line  meant  to  leave  the  young  couple  very 
soon,  making  an  excuse  to  write  a  letter,  but  conscience 
compelled  her  to  speak  first.  She  was  instinctively 
afraid  of  the  passionate  strength  which  Gladys's  phy 
sique  indicated,  and  afraid  of  her1  heavy  brows  and  full 
lips.  She  dreaded  to  cross  her,  to  appear  to  criticize  her, 
but  she  must  speak. 

"I  have  something  I  want  to  say  to  you,  dear  chil 
dren,"  she  began. 

Gladys's  heart  gave  a  leap.  "For  pity's  sake,  if  it's 
serious,  wait  till  it's  cooler  I"  she  exclaimed. 

"Not  at  all,  mother.   We  want  to  hear  it,"  said  Joe. 

Gladys  caught  her  lip  in  her  teeth  and  braced  her 
self.  Her  brain  was  busy  with  a  dozen  explanations 
and  excuses. 

"You  will  think  me  old-fashioned  and  I  know  I  am; 
but  some  of  the  old  fashions  were  best.  I  feel  that  the 
young  mothers  of  to-day  don't  realize  that  it  is  like 
giving  brandy  to  their  little  children  to  take  them  to 
these  moving-picture  plays." 


AT  EVENING  87 

Gladys's  heart  resumed  its  normal  beat.  She  gave 
a  slight,  derisive  laugh,  and  May  Ca'line  looked  at 
her  appealingly.  "All  sorts  of  roughness,  coarseness, 
drunkenness,  cruelty,  and  murder  spread  before  those 
tender,  impressible  minds.  It  is  n't  right." 

"They  don't  know  what  they're  seeing,"  scoffed 
Gladys.  "It  all  rolls  off  them  like  water  off  a  duck's 
back." 

"I  believe  not,"  said  Joe.  "Those  babes  of  ours  are 
highly  excited  to-night,  and  this  is  n't  the  first  time  they 
have  tried  to  reconstruct  scenes  of  bloodshed  for  me. 
I  never  really  understood  it  before." 

"I  took  your  mother  to  the  movie  hoping  to  enter 
tain  her,"  said  Gladys  coldly. 

"Yes,  and  it  was  very  kind  of  you,"  returned  May 
Ca'line  earnestly. 

"There  are  people  of  judgment,"  went  on  Gladys, 
unheeding  the  interruption,  "employed  to  censor  plays 
and  decide  whether  they  are  all  right  for  the  public 
to  see.  After  that  there's  no  need  of  making  a  fuss 
about  it." 

"They  could  n't  have  been  thinking  of  little  children 
when  they  sent  out  those  we  saw  to-day." 

"Decidedly  not,"  said  Joe,  "and  they  can't  think 
much  about  children.  Consequently,  I  think  mother 
is  right,  Gladys,  and  there  should  be  a  second  censor 
ship  in  the  home." 

"And  she  is  to  be  it,  I  suppose,"  said  Gladys  dis 
agreeably. 

"No,  no,  my  dear,  I'm  too  ignorant  of  the  matter," 
returned  May  Ca'line,  "but  when  your  attention  is 
called  to  it — " 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  said  Joe.    "There  are  numbers  of 


88  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

pretty,  girlie  plays.  You  know  the  stars  and  their  spe 
cialties.  Just  don't  go  hit  or  miss,  that's  all.  I  most 
decidedly  object  to  the  children's  seeing  a  lot  of  this 
brutalizing  stuff.  It's  too  exciting  and  we  don't  know 
how  much  the  little  minds  soak  up  like  sponges." 

"That's  right.  Take  away  anything  that  makes 
my  life  easier,"  said  Gladys,  with  a  flashing  look  at  her 
mother-in-law,  visible  in  the  fading  light.  "If  you 
think  it's  any  joke  to  take  care  of  those  children  all 
day,  you  had  better  stay  home  once  in  a  while  and 
try  it." 

"I  hope  you'll  let  me  help  you  a  great  deal,"  said 
May  Ca'line,  her  knees  trembling  a  little,  but  exhort 
ing  herself  to  be  brave  in 'a  good  cause.  "I  love  to  play 
with  children  and  amuse  them." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  don't  wish  you  to  trouble  your 
self." 

Gladys  rose  and  went  into  the  house.  Her  quick 
temper  was  burning  hot  within  her  and  she  could  not 
trust  herself.  She  might  say  something  that  would 
provoke  Joe's  mother  to  the  extent  of  referring  to 
Henry.  She  had  come  to  feel,  by  May  Ca'line's  whole 
propitiatory  attitude  during  the  day,  that  she  intended 
to  keep  silence  on  that  subject.  However,  she  did  not 
go  upstairs  now,  but  slipped  into  the  dark  living-room, 
near  an  open  window. 

May  Ca'line's  hands  were  clasped  tight  together. 
"I'm  sorry,  Joe,"  she  said  apologetically. 

"I'm  glad,"  he  answered  briefly,  and  rising  from  the 
rail  took  the  chair  beside  his  mother.  She  welcomed 
him  with  her  eyes. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  dear,"  she  said 
unsteadily,  in  a  low  voice. 


AT  EVENING  89 

There  was  a  sound  in  the  living-room  behind  them, 
and  they  both  turned  their  heads. 

"It's  nothing,"  said  Joe;  "I  hope  you  always  will 
have  something  to  say  to  me.  We  have  the  arrears  of 
years  to  make  up." 

"But  it's  so  disagreeable,  dear,"  returned  his  mother 
piteously. 

Gladys,  listening,  clasped  her  hands  on  her  heart. 

"I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind,  Joe,  and  I  ought  to 
have  told  you  sooner,  but  I  was  a  coward.  You  have 
so  much  to  carry." 

He  reached  over  and  closed  his  big  hand  over  her 
two  little  ones.  "  I  wonder  if  it  has  anything  to  do  with 
bills,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes.   How  did  you  guess  it?" 

"Oh,  it's  a  natural  weakness  for  such  a  little  sport 
as  you  are." 

She  gave  half  a  sigh,  half  a  sob.  "I  think  I  am  nat 
urally  gay,"  she  said,  "but  there's  nothing  left  of  me 
now  but  a  little  scared  mouse." 

He  laughed.  Gladys  set  her  teeth.  Her  heart  was 
pounding  out  its  relief,  but  she  resented  the  love  sound 
in  that  laugh.  They  were  two  of  a  kind.  They  were 
glad  she  had  come  into  the  house.  Joe  would  n't  laugh 
if  she  confessed  to  bills. 

"I  know  all  about  it,  dear,  if  it's  the  grocer." 

"Oh,  Joe,  it  is  the  grocer.  It's  Mr.  Berry.  Did 
he  really  send  it  to  you  ?  Oh,  I  think  he  should  n't 
have!" 

"I  paid  it  to-day.  That's  wiped  off  the  slate." 

May  Ca'line  lifted  her  boy's  hand  to  her  cheek. 

"It's  a  shame  you  had  to  worry  about  it,"  he  went 
on.  "I've  been  thinking  of  another  thing  to-day.  Our 


90  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

house  is  small  and  I'm  afraid  we  can't  make  you  very 
comfortable." 

May  Ca'line  looked  up  with  big,  startled  eyes.  She 
felt  what  was  coming,  and  Gladys,  inside,  listened 
acutely.  >. 

"How  should  you  like  to  have  a  room  near  us,  in 
stead  of  in  the  house?" 

Gladys  smiled  eagerly  in  the  darkness.  How  could 
Joe  afford  it,  but  how  fine  if  she  could  get  this  inter 
loper  out! 

"Oh,  Joe,  dear,  I  don't  mind  having  a  small  room." 
His  mother's  voice  was  unsteady  in  its  earnestness. 
She  almost  stammered.  "I'll  try  to  be  just  as  little 
trouble  as  I  can,  and  perhaps,  after  awhile,  Gladys  will 
let  me  help  her.  I  really  have  a  kind  of  knack  with  chil 
dren,  I  really  have,  Joe  — 

"Don't  I  remember?  Don't  I  remember?" 

"And  so  please  let  me  stay,  dear." 

"Let  you  stay  —  my  little  mother!" 

Gladys  scowled  into  the  darkness.  She  could  not  see 
how  her  husband  gathered  the  wavy  head  into  his  arms 
and  kissed  the  worried  brow,  but  she  heard  the  tender 
tone. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "the  offer  is  open.  Any  time  that 
you  feel  you  would  prefer  the  other  arrangement  let 
me  know,  and  we'll  make  it.  Mr.  Breed  inquired  very 
particularly  and  politely  about  you  to-day." 

"That  was  nice  of  him." 

"He  seems  to  think  a  mother  is  a  rather  precious 
possession." 

"Yes,  losing  his  so  early." 

"Did  he?  Well,"  Joe  laughed,  "have  you  been  read 
ing  him  up  in  the  papers?" 


AT  EVENING  91 

"I  —  I  somehow  heard  that,  dear." 

"I  believe  it's  the  truth;  but  printed  facts  about 
prominent  people  are  usually  print  only.  He  has  a 
tough  trial  in  the  invalidism  of  his  only  son." 

"How  sad  that  is!" 

"Very.    A  boy  about  eighteen  in  a  wheeled  chair." 

"I'm  so  sorry  for  them  both,"  said  May  Ca'line. 
"You  said  he  has  a  daughter  too." 

"Yes,  a  human  flower,  sheltered  from  every  rough 
wind,  but  robust  enough  not  to  be  afraid  of  them.  A 
refreshing  human  being." 

"I'm  so  glad  for  him.  I  tell  you,  Joe,  the  heart 
knoweth  its  own  bitterness.  We  can't  judge  from 
appearances." 

Gladys  tiptoed  out  of  the  room  and  upstairs. 

A  letter  addressed  to  Henry  Bird  was  sealed  and 
lying  on  the  desk  when  Joe  came  up.  He  noticed  it. 

"What  are  you  saying  to  that  bounder?"  he  asked 
indifferently. 

"Do  you  wish  your  mother  to  censor  it?"  asked 
Gladys. 

"  Steady,  Gladys,  steady.  It  was  nice  of  you  to  take 
her  to  the  show  this  afternoon.  I  want  you  to  know 
that  I  appreciate  any  little  attention  you  show  her." 

"Great  thanks  I  got  for  it.  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had 
not  taken  her.  Then  there  would  n't  have  been  all  this 
fuss  about  the  children." 

"We  have  an  awful  responsibility  to  those  children, 
Gladys.  Sometimes  I  think  you  don't  realize  it." 

"What  a  lot  of  things  you  think!"  said  Gladys  scorn 
fully,  and  proceeded  mutely  to  get  ready  for  bed. 

Her  husband  followed  suit  in  silence.  His  wife's  fit 
ful  aloofness  was  now,  and  ever  must  be,  his  oasis  in 
the  desert. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  CERTAIN  ONE 

ALL  night  and  the  next  day  May  Ca'line's  prob 
lem  weighed  heavily  upon  her.  She  had  incurred 
Gladys's  wrath  concerning  the  moving-picture  plays, 
and  she  dreaded  meeting  her  morning  mood.  A  sudden 
climax  of  emotion  flushed  her  face.  "Wouldn't  it  be 
awful,"  she  thought,  "if  I  should  come  to  hate  my 
boy's  wife!  What  shall  I  do?" 

A  longing  to  get  out  and  away  was  overwhelming. 
After  breakfast  she  passed  Gladys  and  the  children 
as  they  were  coming  down  stairs,  and  said  good-morn 
ing  without  regard  as  to  whether  the  greeting  was  re 
turned.  She  put  her  room  in  order,  then  with  her  hat 
on,  and  jacket  over  her  arm,  she  went  out  into  the 
summer  morning. 

The  direction  they  had  taken  yesterday  led  to  a 
region  of  shops,  so  she  turned  the  opposite  way,  and  in 
ten  minutes  found  herself  near  a  park.  Eagerly  she 
left  the  thickly  built-up  street  and  entered  the  green 
space.  Its  winding  paths,  trees,  shrubs,  and  pond 
seemed  like  a  little  paradise  to  her  eyes,  aching  with 
unshed  tears. 

Nurses  with  perambulators,  and  children  playing 
on  the  grass  unforbidden,  made  her  think  of  those 
little  ones  of  her  own  blood.  "I  could  bring  the  chil 
dren  here  every  day,"  she  thought,  "  but  Gladys 
would  n't  let  me."  Her  eyelids  stung.  She  moved 
close  to  the  water  and  saw  a  bench  underneath  an  elm 


THE  CERTAIN  ONE  93 

tree  whose  graceful  branches  were  motionless  in  the 
still  morning. 

A  woman  dressed  in  white  was  sitting  at  one  end 
of  the  bench,  reading.  May  Ca'line  looked  about  for 
another  seat,  but  this  was  the  only  one  in  shadow,  so 
she  approached  and  sat  down  on  the  vacant  end  of  the 
rustic  seat,  which  would  easily  have  held  four.  Her 
neighbor  merely  glanced  up  and  went  on  with  her 
reading,  and  May  Ca'line  soon  forgot  her  in  her  own 
thoughts. 

She  wondered  if  Joe  would  consent  to  her  trying  to 
get  some  position  to  earn  money  when  she  had  regained 
a  little  more  of  her  old  strength  and  energy.  How  was 
she  to  regain  it  if  she  was  wretchedly  unhappy?  Did 
she  owe  it  to  Joe  to  remain  in  her  uncomfortable  posi 
tion  on  the  mere  chance  of  helping  his  showy  wife  not 
to  forget  what  was  due  him? 

The  woman  at  the  other  end  of  the  bench  was  one 
who  was  alive  to  signs  of  hunger.  She  knew  there  were 
many  kinds.  In  her  one  glance  at  the  newcomer's  face 
she  had  seen  symptoms. 

Now  May  Ca'line  heaved  an  unconscious  sigh  and 
had  to  lift  her  handkerchief  quickly.  At  once  her  neigh 
bor  moved  up  beside  her. 

"Can  I  help  you?"  she  asked. 

May  Ca'line  started,  and  looked  around  through 
the  veil  of  two  more  large  tears  that  trembled  on  her 
pretty  lashes.  She  saw  a  kindly  pair  of  eyes  regarding 
her  out  of  a  countenance  which  expressed  somehow  a 
calm  certainty. 

"You  speak  like  some  one  who  lives  in  a  small  place," 
she  said. 

"I  don't,"  replied  the  other,  smiling,  "but  I  used  to." 


94  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Did  you?"  rejoined  May  Ca'line.  "Then  you'll 
understand  how  strange  the  city  seems  to  me.  I'm 
from  the  country." 

"You're  homesick,  then?" 

"No,  I  haven't  any  home."  The  corners  of  the 
speaker's  lips  twitched  down,  and  if  ever  a  human 
being  felt  ardently  sorry  for  herself,  that  being  was  the 
once  optimistic  May  Ca'line  Laird.  She  began  to  weep 
into  her  handkerchief  heartily  and  disconsolately. 

"Now,  I  think  you'd  better  stop  crying  and  tell  me 
all  about  it." 

The  weeping  one  had  exercised  so  much  repression 
in  the  last  days  that  this  invitation  from  one  who 
looked  so  calmly  certain,  and  so  kindly  withal,  was 
irresistible.  The  sore  heart  began  to  pour  forth  its 
burden.  She  had  an  extraordinary  sensation  of  relief 
when  her  tale  was  ended. 

"It  has  done  me  good  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  no  longer 
sobbing,  and  looking  at  her  companion  wistfully.  "You 
must  be  the  kindest  woman  in  the  world  to  listen  to  a 
stranger  like  this." 

"Each  one  of  us  is  his  brother's  keeper,"  was  the 
answer. 

"Then  you  do  think  I  do  right  to  stay  on  where  I'm 
in  the  way  and  unwelcome,  for  my  daughter-in-law's 
sake?" 

"It  would  seem  so  for  the  present,  but  let  us  get 
away  from  effects  and  look  at  causes.  Probably  you 
have  a  God." 

"Why,  of  course.  Oh,  yes,  indeed;  I've  said  prayers 
enough  to  weary  Him." 

"Did  you  ever  expect  them  to  be  answered?" 

"Yes  —  for  a  long  time  I  did,  but  then  —  then  I 


THE  CERTAIN  ONE  95 

think  we  both  got  discouraged."  There  was  a  sugges 
tion  of  the  old  twinkle  in  May  Ca'line's  swelled  eyes, 
and  the  Certain  lady  smiled. 

"Yes,  you  see  your  God  was  one  that  could  get  dis 
couraged,  because  you  made  Him  up." 

"Why  —  what  do  you  mean?" 

"You  were  contenting  yourself  with  a  less  being  than 
God  Himself,  the  God  of  the  Bible.  First  of  all,  we 
want  to  find  out  in  our  troubles  if  we  are  working  with 
God  or  against  Him." 

May  Ca'line  looked  interested.  Hers  was  the  tem 
perament  to  which  nothing  is  too  good  to  be  true,  yet 
which,  when  often  beaten  and  disappointed,  sinks  to 
the  depths  of  dejection. 

"How  are  we  to  know  whether  we  are  working  with 
Him?"  she  returned. 

"One  way  is  to  ask  if  we  are  happy.  The  Bible  con 
tinually  bids  us  to  rejoice.  'Rejoice  always.'  ' 

"Oh,  I  love  to  be  happy!"  exclaimed  May  Ca'line 
wistfully. 

"Yes,  it  is  the  right  of  mankind.  You  can  see  at 
once,  if  you  think,  that  God  could  n't  create  evil,  so 
all  of  it  that  seems  to  appear  in  the  world  has  come 
about  by  somebody's  wrong  belief  about  something." 

"I  never  thought  of  that." 

"The  more  you  think  of  it  the  more  you  will  see  it 
is  reasonable  —  the  only  possible  thought." 

"Then  all  the  bad  people—" 

"Yes,  there  are  n't  any."  The  Certain  woman  smiled 
at  the  startled,  suspicious  look  her  companion  suddenly 
turned  upon  her.  Evidently  May  Ca'line  began  to 
doubt  her  new  friend's  sanity. 

"The  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the  eating,   my 


96  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

dear,"  continued  the  stranger.  "I  know  such  a  state 
ment  sounds  wild  in  the  face  of  all  we  meet  in  this  mis 
taken,  material  world,  and  so  we  have  to  keep  patiently 
going  back  to  God  whom  the  people  in  all  the  churches 
admit  every  Sunday  is  Omnipotent,  Omnipresent,  and 
Omniscient.  We  go  back  to  Him  and  unless  we  believe 
in  some  other  creator,  some  rival  to  God,  we  come  to 
know  that  all  the  evil  we  have  to  deal  with  is  mistaken 
belief  which  has  grown  into  such  solid  certainty  in  all 
these  years,  that  a  change  will  only  come  by  the  in 
dividual  patiently  working  out  the  problem  for  him 
self  and  proving  that  he  has  a  right  to  rejoice  always." 

There  was  no  insanity  in  that  calm,  certain  face,  and 
there  was  assuredly  kindness. 

May  Ca'line's  brow  knotted  in  her  desire  to  follow. 
"But  how  —  how  does  one  begin?"  she  asked. 

The  Certain  one  met  her  puzzled  look  with  a  smile. 
"  'Resist  the  devil  and  he  will  flee  from  you.'  " 

"Oh,  you  believe  in  the  devil,  then?" 

"Yes,  its  name  is  Fear." 

May  Ca'line  nodded.  "I  believe  that,  too,"  she  said. 

"Just  three  things  we  have  to  remember.  Three 
rules  of  life  laid  down  in  the  Bible,  not  once  but  many 
times.  Fear  not.  Love  one  another.  Rejoice  always. 
You  know  how  some  hymns  of  the  colored  people  talk 
about  'the  lowlands  o'  sorrow/  That  is  a  good  ex 
pression.  Lowlands  breed  miasma,  the  miasma  of 
self-pity,  for  instance.  We  have  to  learn  to  be  mental 
aviators  and  rise  above  that  mist  and  unwholesome- 
ness  into  the  clear  air  and  sunlight  of  God.  We  shall 
if  we  live  by  the  three  rules  and  do  so  intelligently  — 
have  a  reason  for  the  faith  that  is  in  us.  Now,  when 
you  go  back,  know  beyond  doubt  that  each  person  you 


THE  CERTAIN  ONE  97 

meet  is  a  loving,  pure  creation  of  God.  This  you  can 
do  without  approving  one  wrong  thing  that  they  do  or 
say.  In  your  thought  hold  them  up  to  what  they  really 
are  —  see  them  as  God  sees  them,  and  know  that  some 
where,  some  time,  they  will  know  that  truth  too.  Above 
all,  we  must  watch  our  thoughts,  for  our  thought  is 
all  that  God  cares  about,  our  actions  are  the  fruit  of 
that;  and  one's  self  is  the  only  person  he  has  a  right 
to  dominate,  to  change.  God  leaves  His  creation  in 
freedom  and  so  must  we.'^} 

May  Ca'line's  eyes  shone  with  interest  as  she  drank 
in  the  calm  of  the  other's  look.  "I  know  now,"  she 
said.  "I've  heard  of  people  that  think  the  way  you 
do.  You  don't  believe  that  God  sends  sickness  either." 

"Do  you?"  The  calm  one  smiled. 

"Why,  sickness  does  people  good  sometimes  —  they 
say." 

"Then  what  do  'they'  think  was  the  reason  that 
'Jesus  healed  every  manner  of  disease  among  the  peo 
ple  '  ?  He  set  an  example  for  the  world  to  follow.  Why 
did  n't  He  sometimes  tell  a  sick  man  that  for  his  soul's 
good  He  would  leave  him  in  that  condition  for  a 
time?" 

May  Ca'line  looked  at  the  path  at  her  feet,  and  shook 
her  head  as  one  who  had  been  asked  to  take  in  more 
new  ideas  than  she  could  sustain. 

"I  must  go  now,"  said  her  new  friend,  "and  I  will 
leave  with  you  this  article  in  case  you  are  interested 
to  read  it."  She  put  in  May  Ca'line's  lap  a  pamphlet 
which  bore  on  its  cover  the  title,  "Prayer  and  Con 
fidence."  She  took  the  little  woman's  hard,  ungloved 
hand  in  her  own.  "Read  Isaiah,"  she  said.  "Find  out 
the  real  God  who  is  never  discouraged,  and  take  Him 


98  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

at  His  word ;  God  who  '  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold 
evil  and  cannot  look  upon  iniquity — '  Good-bye." 

She  was  gone  around  the  huge  trunk  of  the  elm  tree 
before  May  Ca'line  had  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  cover 
of  the  pamphlet. 

She  awoke  from  her  brown  study  and  started  to 
her  feet.  "Oh!"  she  called,  and  ran  upon  the  grass 
and  looked  in  all  directions.  The  Certain  one  had 
gone. 

"I  did  n't  ask  her  name.  I  did  n't  find  out  where  she 
lived.  Oh,  I  can't  lose  her!"  she  exclaimed  aloud,  and 
even  hurried  in  both  directions  to  see  if  a  fold  of  the 
white  gown  was  discernible,  but  her  new  friend  had 
vanished. 

"Was  it  real!"  gasped  May  Ca'line.  The  little  brown 
pamphlet  was  in  her  hands.  She  clasped  it  to  her 
breast.  Prayer  and  Confidence.  If  she  could  ever  feel 
confident  again! 

She  moved  toward  home  with  a  lighter  step,  new 
courage  in  her  heart.  She  wanted  to  tell  Joe  every 
thing  she  had  heard,  and  to  hear  him  say  that  it  sounded 
reasonable.  If  it  was  true  that  God's  children  might 
become  better  acquainted  with  Him,  as  it  were,  and 
thereby  come  closer,  every  sad  soul  ought  to  know  it, 
and  even  in  the  short  and  few  glimpses  she  had  had  of 
her  boy  in  his  home,  she  felt  convinced  that  the  heart 
within  his  bosom  was  often  sad  and  heavy. 

As  she  neared  the  block  of  houses  in  which  was  home 
she  began  counting.  They  were  all  exactly  alike,  and 
she  had  impressed  on  her  mind  that  the  third  house 
from  this  end  was  Joe's. 

Just  as  she  discerned  it,  the  door  opened.  A  man 
came  out  and  she  heard  him  say,  "So  long,"  before 


THE  CERTAIN  ONE  99 

it  closed  behind  him  and  he  ran  down  the  steps.  She 
recognized  the  strident  voice,  and  instead  of  turning 
in  at  the  house,  she  followed  the  man's  jaunty  figure 
with  an  unreasoning  instinct  to  see  where  he  went. 
Even  the  wren  defends  its  young.  Little  May  Ca'line 
hastened  her  steps  not  to  lose  sight  of  him.  He  walked 
straight  ahead  for  one  square,  then  turned  down  a  side 
street  and  stopped  before  a  runabout  car,  which  was 
parked  before  a  vacant  lot. 

What  had  she  accomplished,  merely  to  see  a  man 
drive  away  in  his  car?  As  she  passed  him  she  received 
the  impression  of  a  very  new  checked  suit,  the  back  of 
a  thick  neck,  cleanly  shaved,  a  led  tie,  and  the  flash 
of  a  diamond  ring  on  the  hand  working  at  the  car.  She 
walked  on  slowly.  As  soon  as  she  should  hear  the  whirr 
of  the  engine  she  would  turn  and  go  home.  The  street 
was  a  quiet  one,  but  she  heard  no  promising  sound. 
She  crossed  the  road  and  looked  back.  The  checked 
suit  was  lounging  in  the  quiet  car,  its  owner's  hat  was 
off  and  his  eyes  were  absorbed  in  a  newspaper. 

May  Ca'line's  heart  contracted.  "He  is  waiting  1" 
She  hastened  up  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  and 
turned  toward  home.  Entering,  she  met  Gladys  in  the 
hall,  hatted  and  veiled,  and  with  a  light  wrap  over 
her  arm.  She  thought  her  daughter-in-law  started, 
but  the  young  woman  spoke  nonchalantly:  — 

"Back  so  soon?  I'm  going  out  to  make  a  call.  I  may 
stay  for  lunch,  so  don't  wait  for  me." 

"Do  you  think  you'd  better,  Gladys?"  May  Ca'line 
spoke  breathlessly  and  beseechingly.  "It's  very  warm. 
Had  n't  you  better  stay  at  home,  dear?" 

Gladys  stared  at  her.  "What  an  idea!  Do  I  look 
like  a  delicate  flower?" 


100  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"You  don't  need  a  wrap.  I  would  n't  go,  Gladys. 
Oh,  don't  go!  Joe  does  n't  like  you  to,  does  he?" 

Gladys  forced  a  laugh.  Her  mother-in-law's  eyes 
made  her  uncomfortable.  She  was  uncanny;  but  how 
could  she  suspect  anything?  "Of  course,  Joe  wants  me 
to,"  she  answered  roughly.  "You  must  have  got  a 
touch  of  the  sun  this  morning.  There's  a  detective  play 
at  the  movie  this  afternoon.  Of  course,  the  children 
mustn't  go  because  it's  nearly  certain  the  criminal 
will  be  shot,  but  you  might  like  to  see  the  detective 
work.  Nora  has  charge  of  the  children,  so  don't  bother 
about  them." 

She  went  out  the  door  and  closed  it  behind  her 
loudly,  leaving  May  Ca'line  pressing  her  pamphlet  to 
her  breast  and  staring  after  her  with  wide  eyes. 

"O  God,"  she  whispered,  "you  have  given  us  the 
three  hardest  things  in  life  to  do:  not  to  be  afraid,  to 
rejoice,  and  to  love  everybody!" 

Feeling  as  if  she  had  been  bruised  by  a  heavy  hand, 
she  turned  and  made  her  way  out  toward  the  kitchen. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ROSE  LEDGE 

NORA  looked  up  at  her  entrance.  "Good  ye  went 
out  for  a  walk,"  she  said,  noting  the  life,  not  to 
say  excitement,  in  the  little  woman's  face. 

"Yes,  I  found  such  a  pretty  park.  It  makes  every 
thing  so  much  pleasanter  to  know  there  is  a  place  like 
that  near  by.  Do  the  children  ever  go  there?" 

"Whin  there's  some  one  to  take  them  they  do,  but 
the  movies  is  livelier." 

"It's  too  lively  for  little  folks  sometimes,  I  think." 

"  Mrs.  Laird  was  sayin'  that  same,"  remarked  Nora, 
smiling  at  her  dishpan.  "She  told  the  children  they 
could  n't  go,  along  o'  their  grandmother." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry.  That  would  make  the  children  dis 
like  me." 

Nora  nodded  as  one  who  could  tell  tales,  but  would 
not. 

"Mrs.  Laird  is  not  coming  home  to  lunch,  she  just 
told  me." 

"Sure  she  won't,  thin.  Whin  I  heerd  Mr.  Bir-rd's 
voice  a  while  ago  I  knew  she  would  n't  be  home  to 
lunch." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Bird?  Some  close  friend  of  my  son?" 
May  Ca'line  tried  to  speak  carelessly  while  she  prayed 
for  an  affirmative  answer,  a  lifted  load,  and  a  free  heart 
to  go  out  and  make  peace  with  the  children. 

"Close  frind,  is  it?  Mr.  Laird  loves  him  the  way 
the  divil  loves  holy  water.  Why  would  n't  he  ?  Mr. 


102  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

Laird's  a  grand  gintleman  even  if  he's  only  a  boy.  Mr. 
Bir-rd  chucks  me  under  the  chin  whin  I  go  to  the  door 
to  let  him  in.  He  does  truly  think  that  even  a  poor 
gir-rl  like  me  would  be  crazy  about  him.  I'd  box  his 
ears  fer  him  if  I  dared,  but  I  know  out  I'd  go  if  I  made 
him  mad,  and  —  I  don't  like  to  leave  'em  alone." 

The  sun  color  faded  from  her  hearer's  face.  She  re 
garded  the  buxom  girl  fixedly.  "I  thank  you,  Nora, 
for  your  loyalty.  Mrs.  Laird  is  young  and  likes  a  good 
time,  of  course." 

The  speaker  was  pressing  her  pamphlet  between  her 
hands  and  trying  to  remember  the  three  rules. 

One  minute  she  felt  that  it  was  traitorous  to  Joe  not 
to  tell  him  that  his  wife  was  clandestinely  seeing  a 
man  whom  he  disapproved;  the  next,  she  was  assuring 
herself  that  interference  between  husband  and  wife 
was  criminal.  If  Nora  would  only  tell  him!  But  Nora 
evidently  felt  that  it  was  more  important  that  she 
should  be  there  to  minister  to  the  comfort  of  her  mas 
ter  and  the  children  than  to  make  any  revelation. 

It  was  in  the  same  park  on  the  following  Sunday 
that  Vivian  Breed  was  sitting  in  view  of  the  road  and 
waiting  rather  impatiently,  when  Joe  Laird,  escorting 
his  family,  strolled  into  sight.  She  recognized  him  in 
the  distance.  With  him  was  a  showy  young  woman 
in  a  corn-colored  frock  and  large  black  picture  hat.  As 
she  came  nearer,  it  was  observable  that  she  wore  long 
jet  earrings  and  was  chewing  gum  vigorously.  Vivian 
gazed  at  her  scrutinizingly.  There  was  a  fork  in  the 
path  along  which  they  were  advancing;  one  arm  led 
to  the  water,  the  other  past  the  bench  on  which  she 
was  sitting.  She  hoped  they  would  take  the  first,  and 


ROSE  LEDGE  103 

meanwhile  gazed  with  scornful  but  eager  curiosity  at 
the  group.  The  twins  walked  one  on  each  side  of  their 
father  and  he  held  them  by  the  hand.  Vivian  paid  no 
attention  to  them;  the  young  man's  face  engrossed  her. 
It  wore  the  same  look  of  white  immobility  she  had 
noted  in  the  office,  and  the  high-colored,  frankly  chew 
ing,  conspicuous  young  woman  accompanying  the  trio 
seemed  to  Vivian  ample  explanation  of  this  stoicism. 

"Say,  come  over  this  way.  I  see  a  shady  seat."  The 
strong,  nasal  voice  exactly  suited  the  large  buckles, 
hat,  and  yellow  gown  of  its  possessor. 

Vivian's  heart  leaped  in  her  throat.  They  were  tak 
ing  her  path.  Why  should  she  care?  She  did  care  ridic 
ulously.  She  could  not  endure  to  see  the  humiliation 
of  one  who  seemed  to  belong  to  so  different  a  human 
stratum. 

A  minute  more  and  they  had  reached  her.  She  saw 
at  once  that  she  need  not  have  dreaded.  The  moment 
her  father's  secretary  recognized  her  his  face  changed. 
He  released  his  hands  from  Bob's,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
as  they  advanced  paused  before  her  bench.  She  rose. 

"This  is  the  very  last  place  I  should  expect  to  meet 
you,  Miss  Breed.  Let  me  introduce  my  wife.  Here, 
too,  is  the  heir-apparent  and  the  princess-royal." 

Vivian,  looking  lovely  with  her  deeply  flushed  cheeks, 
shook  hands  with  them  all.  The  children  and  their 
mother  stared  at  the  gray-clad  figure  in  the  floating, 
chiffon  veil,  Gladys  mightily  excited  by  a  near  view  of 
this  one  of  the  town's  exclusives,  whose  triumphs  she 
had  followed  so  closely. 

"Something  happened  to  the  machine  just  as  we 
were  passing  the  park  and  father  did  n't  want  me  to 
sit  about  the  garage,  so  I'm  here  until  called  for." 


104  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"We're  going  to  feed  the  swans,"  said  Ella,  who 
grudged  any  delay  in  the  programme,  "just  as  soon  as 
we've  found  a  shady  place  for  mother  to  sit." 

" What's  the  matter  with  my  feeding  the  swans?" 
inquired  Gladys,  who  had  no  idea  of  being  left  out  if  a 
society  affair  was  impending. 

"Don't  let  me  detain  you,"  said  Vivian;  "I'm  tired 
of  sitting  and  I'm  going  to  walk  about  a  bit."  The 
appalling  possibility  that  Mrs.  Joseph  Laird  might 
change  her  mind  concerning  the  swans  and  commit 
her  to  a  tete-d-tete  on  the  shady  bench,  determined  her 
quick  action. 

"Ain't  she  a  beauty!"  exclaimed  Gladys  when  they 
had  parted;  "and  she  don't  seem  a  bit  stuck  up,  does 
she,  Joe?" 

"No"  he  answered  passively. 

"I  don't  believe  I  care  about  going  to  the  water  after 
all.  It's  too  sunny."  Gladys  yawned  and  took  the  seat 
Vivian  had  quitted,  with  the  hope  that  Miss  Breed 
might  become  weary  of  walking  and  return  to  the* 
shade. 

Vivian,  however,  spied  the  tropical  bird  from  afar 
and  avoided  the  trap.  Her  thoughts  were  busy.  She 
was  glad  she  had  seen  Mr.  Laird  with  his  family  before 
he  was  on  guard. 

"How  well  he  behaved,"  she  thought.  "Not  too 
much,  not  too  little.  He  is  a  gentleman." 

The  resentment  she  had  felt  at  first  on  finding  that 
so  desirable  a  person  had  spoiled  his  life  foolishly,  from 
this  time  on  gave  way  to  a  grave  sympathy  for  the 
obvious  mismating.  Any  boy,  even  Ferdy,  if  he  were 
strong  and  well,  might  be  dazzled  by  big  black  eyes, 
high  color,  and  jet  earrings,  and  take  the  irrevocable 


ROSE  LEDGE  105 

step  without  consideration.  It  was  the  long  years  of 
paying  for  such  a  mistake  that  one  should  deplore  and 
compassionate  in  such  a  case,  rather  than  to  criticize. 

For  days  afterward  the  scene  often  recurred  to  her. 
The  look  on  Joe  Laird's  face  before  he  saw  her.  Its 
lighting  when  he  did.  The  predisposition  she  had  al 
ways  felt  in  his  favor  warmed  into  admiration  at  the 
absence  of  embarrassment  in  his  introductions.  All 
that  her  father  had  said  of  the  hopelessness  of  the 
young  fellow's  handicap  was  burned  into  her  memory. 
He  was  fine-grained.  He  displayed  no  gaucherie. 

"I  like  him.  That's  all.  It's  a  great  shame  and  I 
must  n't  think  about  it.  It's  too  hard.  Such  a  chance 
as  he  has  there  in  the  office,  and  yet  father  holding  him 
back,  because — !"  The  mental  image  of  Gladys  rose 
before  her. 

Vivian's  gay  summer  life  left  her  little  time  to  dwell 
on  other  people's  worries.  The  heavy  anxiety  she  and 
her  father  had  to  carry  in  the  invalidism  of  her  brother 
accompanied  this  gayety  and  was  always  shadowing 
it;  but  she  had  found  that  it  doubled  her  father's  sor 
row  when  she  failed  to  enter  into  the  life  of  the  young 
people  of  her  set,  and  she  made  her  house-parties  happy 
affairs  more  to  please  him  than  herself. 

One  day,  about  a  fortnight  after  the  rencontre  in  the 
park,  she  was  sitting  in  a  hammock  under  the  trees 
when  she  saw  her  father's  car  enter  between  the  mas 
sive  stone  posts  of  the  gateway.  It  was  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon  and  breezes  swept  across  the  velvet  turf 
of  Rose  Ledge  and  waved  the  famous  elms.  The  low, 
spreading  stone  house  stood  on  a  height,  and  the  road 
from  the  park  gate  wound  up  to  the  imposing  entrance 
through  blossom-laden  rose  trees. 


106  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Vivian  jumped  from  the  hammock  and  approaching 
the  drive  saw  that  her  father  was  not  alone.  He  leaned 
forward,  raising  his  hat.  The  chauffeur  stopped. 

"That's  right,  Vivian.  Take  care  of  Laird  until  I 
get  some  papers  ready." 

Joe,  bareheaded  to  the  breeze,  left  the  car,  which 
moved  on. 

"I  dare  say  it's  cooler  in  the  house,"  said  the  girl,  as 
she  greeted  him. 

"No;  if  you  like  to  stay  out  here  I  prefer  it." 

Vivian  saw  the  appreciation  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked 
off  on  hill  and  vale  and  glinting  lake,  the  trees  massed 
against  the  summer  sky,  the  freshness  and  beauty  of 
the  cherished  sward. 

"Then  come  over  to  the  pavilion  and  we'll  have 
something  cold,"  returned  Vivian.  She  wondered  what 
cooped-up  city  home  was  his;  and  Gladys  would  have 
been  delighted  to  know  that  she  instantly  planned  to 
interest  her  father  in  sending  this  pale  face  away  for 
a  vacation. 

"You  look  as  if  you  were  meditating  tennis,"  said 
Joe,  glancing  over  her  costume. 

"I  am,  a  little  later." 

"You  won't  let  me  detain  you." 

"No,  I  was  lying  here  reading  when  you  came  in. 
Try  that  chair." 

She  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  her  couch  and  Joe 
sank  into  the  hammock  chair  with  a  sigh  of  comfort. 

"The  lap  of  luxury,"  he  said,  smiling. 

She  thought  his  smile  and  eyes  unusually  satisfac 
tory.  Why  did  it  always  happen  that  the  most  attrac 
tive  men  married  before  a  debutante  could  meet  them? 
Not  that  she  could  by  any  possibility  ever  have  chosen 


ROSE  LEDGE  107 

a  man  who  could  be  aware  of  the  existence  of  gaudy 
women  like  the  sample  she  had  seen,  no  matter  how 
much  she  might  like  his  hair-cut  and  his  quiet  air  of 
self-possession. 

A  man  in  livery  came  across  the  lawn  bearing  a  tray. 
As  he  approached,  a  pleasant  tinkling  of  ice  was  heard. 
The  servant  stood  after  depositing  the  tray  on  a  table 
beside  his  young  mistress. 

"You  may  go,  Simmons.   We  will  serve  ourselves." 

Joe  moved  his  chair  until  the  two  young  people  were 
vis-d-vis  across  the  table.  The  swaying  branches  above 
them  cast  brocading  shadows  over  Vivian's  white  cor 
duroy. 

"Isn't  it  rather  unusual  to  find  you  alone?"  he 
asked,  watching  the  girl's  hands  among  the  glasses. 
"One  can  almost  hear  the  quiet  to-day." 

"Yes,  this  is  the  calm  between  two  storms.  One 
house-party  just  gone  and  the  next  not  yet  come." 

"It's  very  beautiful,"  said  Joe,  not  specifying  what, 
but  regarding  his  companion's  hair.  He  noted  the  book 
on  the  hammock.  "What  is  that  you  are  reading?" 

"  'Middlemarch.'  " 

Joe  smiled.  "How  unexpected.  Are  you  like  the 
man  —  I  think  it  was  the  great  and  good  Emerson,  who 
said,  'When  a  new  book  comes  out  I  read  an  old  one'?" 

"How  discouraging  to  authors!  No;  but  I've  some 
how  missed  'Middlemarch'  until  now.  I  suppose  you 
haven't  read  it?" 

"Why  should  you  suppose  that?" 

"Why  —  because"  —  Vivian  colored  —  "did  n't  you 
say  —  I  judged  from  what  you  said  that  you  were  like 
father  and  began  so  young  to  be  too  busy." 

Joe  laughed  quietly  in  a  way  to  set  her  entirely  at 


108  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

ease.  "You're  quite  right.  There  never  has  been  a 
time  when  I  should  have  been  likely  to  sit  down  and 
read  'Middlemarch,'  but  you  see  it  was  read  to  me." 

He  accepted  an  iced  drink  from  his  hostess's  sun- 
browned  hands,  and  she  flashed  him  a  surprised  glance. 
Was  it  possible  to  conceive  of  Mrs.  Joseph  Laird  in 
such  a  position?  Was  he  really  gping  to  be  able  to  in 
fluence  her  to  take  an  interest  in  such  things  ? 

A  slow  color  crept  over  Joe  Laird's  face  as  he  read 
her  thought,  and  he  stirred  the  fruit  in  his  glass. 

"You  see,  I  made  a  wonderfully  wise  choice  of  a 
mother,"  he  said.  "We  lived  in  a  little  country  town 
where  there  were  mighty  few  things  for  a  boy  to  do  in 
the  evening.  She  was  interested  in  everything  in  print, 
and  she  was  such  fun  herself,  and  so  enthusiastic  that 
she  kept  all  the  wild  colts  in  the  neighborhood  quiet 
nights  with  apples  and  books.  You  see  which  I  put 
first.  The  only  stories  we  had  or  could  borrow  were 
the  standards,  so  we  heard  everything  from  Fenimore 
Cooper  to  George  Eliot." 

"I  knew  you  had  a  nice  mother,"  said  Vivian,  with 
her  characteristic,  impulsive  naivete.  She  blushed 
again  under  her  companion's  regard. 

"I  could  search  that  speech  for  an  exceedingly  pleas 
ant  compliment." 

"I  pay  them  sometimes,"  said  the  girl,  with  fine  care 
lessness,  "and  when  I  do  they're  always  obvious.  Do 
you  remember  the  story  of  'Middlemarch'?" 

"Vaguely." 

"I'm  glad  it's  only  vaguely,  for  I've  just  reached 
the  place  where  Dorothy  begins  to  suspect  that  Casau- 
bon  is  n't  the  right  man  for  her,  and  you  might  tell  me 
something." 


I  KNEW  YOU  HAD  A  NICE  MOTHER 


ROSE  LEDGE  109 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now." 

"Well,  don't  tell." 

"Never.  I  simply  remember  a  bad  case  of  incom 
patibility." 

"I  should  say  so.  How  could  that  foolish  girl  be  so 
hypnotized  —  and  there  was  Ladislaw  right  in  sight 
all  the  time." 

"The  right  man?" 

Vivian  clasped  her  hands  over  her  ears.  "Don't  tell 
me." 

Joe  laughed.  "I  won't,  because  I  don't  know.  I 
can't  quite  remember  the  ending." 

"She's  just  finding  out  what  an  image  she  has  mar 
ried.  Poor  girl!" 

"Poor  girl,  indeed!  But  poor  man,  too.  He  was  a 
great  student,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  a  student  of  things  nobody  cares  anything 
about.  Why  should  you  pity  him?" 

Joe  gave  his  attention  to  cutting  a  strawberry  in  his 
glass.  "Because  in  such  marriages  the  suffering  can't 
be  one-sided." 

"He  isn't  the  sort  of  person  who  could  feel  any 
thing." 

"He  does  n't  show  it,  perhaps,  but  he'll  find  out  that 
he  has  lost  her  love." 

"Now,  you're  telling  me,"  declared  Vivian  accus 
ingly. 

"Not  at  all.  I 'm  composing.  That's  the  next  logical 
step,  is  n't  it?" 

"There  is  n't  any  logic  in  love." 

At  the  quick  reply  Joe  glanced  up.  Vivian  was  gaz 
ing  off  at  the  lake,  sparkling  among  the  trees.  He 
looked  at  her  hands.  It  was  possible  she  might  be 


110  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

engaged  without  the  newspapers  blazoning  the  fact,  but 
her  slender  fingers  were  ringless. 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  "I  think  you've  guessed  right 
the  very  first  time  as  to  that." 

"And  the  Dr.  Casaubons  of  the  world  can't  suffer," 
she  said,  looking  back  at  him. 

"There  you're  wrong.  That  is  one  thing  we  all  have 
a  talent  for.  If  Dr.  Casaubon  was  the  wrong  man  for 
Dorothy,  she  was  equally  the  wrong  woman  for  him; 
and  she  should  n't  have  all  the  sympathy." 

Vivian  regarded  the  speaker  a  minute  in  silence.  His 
eyes  fell  from  hers  and  he  turned  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder.  "I  wonder  if  Mr.  Breed  expects  me  to  come 
to  the  house?" 

"He'll  send  for  you,  I'm  sure,"  said  Vivian  hastily. 
— •  "  I  had  n't  thought  of  that  argument,  but  I  suppose 
there  was  some  high-brow  woman  with  a  skin  like 
parchment  and  feelings  all  dried  up  into  a  craze  for 
study,  who  would  never  have  missed  anything  in  that 
old  curmudgeon." 

"Possibly."  Joe  smiled.  "You  see,  the  trouble  is 
these  unwise  bookworms  allow  themselves  to  be  de 
terred  by  the  parchment." 

"Let  us  walk  down  to  the  lake,"  said  Vivian.  "I'm 
sure  if  we  stay  here  you  are  going  to  tell  me  whether 
Dorothy  ever  gets  free  and  marries  Will  Ladislaw." 

"Do  you  want  her  to?" 

Joe  rose  and  they  moved  away  over  the  clipped 
lawn. 

"Certainly  I  do.   I'm  just  living  to  have  her." 

"No  matter  what  she  breaks  doing  it?" 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  want  it  to  be  done  in  some  nice 
way;  but  he  loves  her  and  I  sympathize  with  him.  I 


ROSE  LEDGE  111 

always  want  every  Jack  to  get  his  Jill.  I'm  terribly 
romantic,  Mr.  Laird." 

Joe  again  gave  his  quiet  laugh.  "I  don't  believe 
that,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  would  have  been  trapped  before  this. 
Some  lucky  chap  would  have  been  waiting  for  you  at 
the  college  gate." 

"Oh,  I  have  a  father,"  said  Vivian  demurely. 

"It  will  have  to  be  a  prince  to  win  his  consent,  I 
know;  a  prince  of  to-day,  be  it  understood,  no  white 
charger,  but  miracles  of  motors  galore." 

"Father  does  n't  care  so  much  about  money." 

"No,  only  the  things  that  money  brings." 

"How  little  it  brings,"  said  Vivian,  with  a  change  of 
tone.  "Think  of  Ferdy." 

"How  is  he  to-day?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  isn't  even  here.  The  doctor 
says  his  trouble  is  all  nerves.  He  overdid,  his  first  year 
in  college,  and  when  he  had  to  leave  he  seemed  to  feel 
it  abnormally:  considered  it  a  disgrace,  you  know,  and 
all  that.  Well,  recently  he  decided  he  would  go  away, 
and  where  to,  do  you  suppose?"  Vivian  looked  up 
into  her  companion's  serious,  sympathetic  face.  "He 
wanted  to  go  to  our  house  in  town." 

"Away  from  this  paradise?" 

"No  wonder  you  are  astonished;  and,  oh,  Mr.  Laird, 
you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  me  to  feel  that  I  —  /  am 
the  reason." 

"There  must  be  some  mistake  about  that,"  put  in 
Joe,  stirred  by  her  eyes  and  trembling  lips. 

"I  am  between  two  fires.  If  I  don't  have  guests  and 
gayety  here,  it  distresses  father.  No  matter  how  much 


HEARTS9  HAVEN 

I  try  to  persuade  him  that  it's  hard  on  Ferdy,  he  really 
does  n't  believe  it.  Of  course,  Ferdy  has  his  own  apart 
ments  and  we're  with  him  a  great  deal,  but  he  knows 
that  a  lot  of  things  are  going  on  that  he  can't  be  in  and 
it  chafes  him.  Father  says  if  I  don't  live  the  life  he 
thinks  is  normal  for  me,  he  is  the  father  of  two  failures, 
instead  of  one.  I  have  n't  known  how  to  manage  any 
differently."  Vivian  stopped,  choked. 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  do  anything;  if  I  could  go  to  see 
him." 

"Possibly  after  awhile.  Just  now  he  has  laid  down 
the  rule  of  no  visitors.  Father  calls  every  day,  but  the 
doctor  orders  us  to  humor  him." 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,"  said  Joe. 

The  girl's  breath  caught  in  her  throat.  "There  come 
the  tennis-playeis,"  she  exclaimed  as  a  machine  rolled 
through  the  park  gate,  full  of  bareheaded  young 
folk,  whose  laughter  and  gay  cries  broke  upon  the  sum 
mer  quiet.  "I  see  father  on  the  steps,  too.  He  is  look 
ing  for  you." 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  Joe  clasped  it.  "I'm  glad 
we  had  this  little  visit,"  she  said,  her  honest,  lovely 
eyes  full  of  friendliness.  "I  can't  speak  of  Ferdy  to 
father  because  we  don't  agree.  If  you  are  here  when 
the  game  is  over,  you  must  meet  my  friends  and  have 
tea  with  us." 

They  retraced  their  steps,  Vivian  waving  a  hand 
toward  the  visiting  machine. 

Joe  hastened  to  meet  his  employer.  Nothing  was 
farther  from  his  wish  than  to  have  tea  with  Vivian's 
friends,  but  his  talk  with  her  had  been  more  refreshing 
to  him  than  the  breezes  that  came  across  the  lake. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WILLIS  FROTHINGHAM 

MAY  CA 'LINE'S  letters  to  Leacock  had  been 
carefully  worded,  but  had  not  really  deserved 
the  signature  of  Sapphira.  Yet,  at  the  close  of  each 
letter  which  Hetty  and  Martha  shared,  the  latter 
would  shake  her  head  with  the  comment:  "You  know 
May  Ca'line!" 

Hetty  resented  this.  She  preferred  to  invest  her  old 
friend's  modest  picture  with  an  added  luster.  "I  don't 
know  why  you  should  doubt  her,  Martha,"  she  said. 
"There's  the  facts  right  before  your  eyes.  A  hired  girl, 
a  lovin'  son,  children  healthy  as  colts,  a  movie  theater 
two  squares  away  in  one  direction,  and  a  park  three 
squares  away  in  the  other;  her  time  her  own;  no 
worry  about  expenses.  The  fat  o'  the  land  I  should 
call  it.  The  fat  o'  the  land.  I  don't  know  why  you  need 
to  be  always  shakin'  your  head." 

For  answer  Mrs.  Berry  shook  it  again.  The  letter 
was  to  her  this  time,  and  she  had  opened  it  at  once  in 
the  post-office  and  waited  for  Hetty  Woodward's  duties 
to  be  over  in  order  to  share  it  with  her.  The  store,  at 
mail-time,  was  a  busy  scene,  but  now  the  crowd  had 
disappeared  and  the  two  women  were  almost  alone. 
Hetty  was  on  her  official  side  of  the  counter.  She  was 
always  willing  to  give  Simon  Berry  a  lift  in  waiting  on 
such  customers  as  remained  after  the  mail  was  distrib 
uted,  but  now  the  last  woman  had  gone.  Simon  and 
his  clerk,  who  was  also  a  silent  partner,  were  busy  at 


114  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

the  back  of  the  store,  and  the  two  women  were  undis 
turbed  in  their  regular,  friendly  wrangle  over  their  old 
schoolmate. 

"I  can't  help,  Hetty,"  — Mrs.  Berry  yielded  to  a 
rush  of  confidence  toward  the  unsafe  confidante,  —  "I 
can't  help  feelin'  that  Joe's  wife,  that  Gladys,  is  about  as 
mean  as  they  make  'em." 

"A  vampire,  do  you  mean?"  asked  Hetty,  eagerly. 

"Law,  no,"  returned  Mrs.  Berry,  smiling;  "I  never 


saw  one." 


"You  did,  too,  Martha.  Don't  you  remember  at 
the  movie  on  Thursday,  that  woman  with  the  eyes, 
that  acted  so  snake-like,  and  made  the  trouble  between 
Bushman  and  Bayne?" 

"Oh,  is  that  what  you  mean?  Is  that  what  you  call 
a  viper?" 

"Not  a  viper,  a  vampire.  Most  every  play  has  to 
have  one." 

"Well,  thank  Heaven,  most  every  family  don't  have 
to  have  one,  and  I  hope  our  poor%May  Ca'line — "  She 
paused. 

"Oh,  I  think  it's  awfully  excitin',"  said  Hetty,  mani 
festly  charmed  by  this  development.  "Has  Gladys 
got  big  eyes?  Her  name  sounds  romantic." 

Martha  had  been  one  of  the  few  favored  ones  who 
had  met  the  young  bride  on  Joe's  brief  wedding  trip. 

"Yes,  indeed,  if  that's  all  you  want  for  your  vam 
pire.  They're  big  and  black  as  they  ever  come." 

"It  sounds  like  it,"  declared  Hetty,  tucking  her  hair 
behind  her  ears.  "Your  suspicions  is  very  excitin', 
Martha." 

"Law,  Hetty,"  said  her  suddenly  repentant  friend, 
"they  ain't  suspicions,  they're  guesses,  and  they  ain't 


WILLIS  FROTHINGHAM  115 

worth  two  cents.  You  know  we  can  talk  over  these 
things  together  without  doin'  any  harm,  but  you  know 
how  great  a  matter  a  little  fire  kindleth.  It  might  make 
a  lot  o'  mischief  for  you  to  say  anything  about  Joe's 
wife  to  any  of  the  old  neighbors." 

"Oh,  I  should  n't  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"Yes,  but  you  might  do  it  without  thinkin'.  I'm 
a  silly  woman  to  have  put  such  thoughts  into  your 
head." 

Miss  Woodward's  gaze  was  abstracted.  "I  could 
write  a  movie  plot  on  it,"  she  said.  "They  pay  well 
for  ideas." 

"I  should  think  they  would.  There's  so  few  in  the 
world,"  returned  Mrs.  Berry  caustically.  "Now, 
listen,  Hetty — " 

"There's  the  handsome  hero,  —  Joe  Laird's  a 
beauty,  whatever  else  he  may  be,  —  marries  too  early, 
finds  out  too  late  his  wife  is  a  vampire"  (how  Hetty 
luxuriated  in  that  word!)  —  "sends  for  his  mother  — 
mother  an  angel  and  very  young  and  good-lookin', 
but  miserably  poor  arid  hungry.  Thinks  she's  gettin' 
into  a  safe  harbor,  finds  the  vampire  bringin'  up  her 
son's  children  to  be  worse  than  herself,  and  besides,  is 
carryin'  on  secret  connivin's  with  other  men — " 

"Hetty  Woodward,  you  stop!" 

"  She  proves  to  be  an  /talian  —  her  black  eyes 
ought  to  have  warned  him.  She's  risen  from  an  /talian 
slum  to  be  a  stenography,  and  she's  in  league  with  the 
Black  Hand,  and  she  hates  her  mother-in-law — " 

"Hetty  Woodward,  stop  this  minute!  You  can  write 
as  many  theatricals  as  you  want  to,  only  don't  read 
'em  to  me ;  and  do,  for  the  land's  sake,  take  it  out 
in  writin';  don't  say  anything  to  anybody.  My  no- 


116  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

account  imaginin's  might  bring  some  trouble  to  May 
Ca'line;  and  if  we  did  make  it  any  harder  for  her — " 

Mrs.  Berry  paused  because  a  stranger  entered  the 
store,  and  seeing  Hetty  behind  the  counter  advanced 
to  where  the  two  women  had  their  heads  together. 

He  was  a  young,  dapper,  city  man,  with  an  assured 
manner,  and  he  lifted  his  hat  with  an  air  which  in 
stantly  fascinated  Hetty.  She  afterward  likened  his 
advent  to  a  fresh  breeze  coming  across  a  sandy  desert. 

"Pardon  me  for  disturbing  you,  ladies,  but  I  think 
there  is  a  letter  here  for  me." 

"What  name?"  asked  Hetty.  She  felt  it  was  a  cold 
and  heartless  rejoinder  to  make  to  one  so  debonair, 
but  the  Government  paid  her  for  just  such  hauteur. 

"Willis  Frothingham,"  he  responded.  And  Hetty, 
vanishing  behind  the  pigeon-holes,  found  a  letter  for 
him  and  produced  it. 

"Kind  o'  warm  day,  ain't  it?'  she  said. 

The  young  man  might  have  assented  and  departed. 
She  was  afraid  he  would. 

"I  was  wonderin'  who  that  letter  was /or,"  she  pur 
sued  graciously;  "I  usually  know  everybody  in  Lea- 
cock." 

"And  I  hope  you  will  know  me,"  was  the  charming 
reply.  "I  am  obliged  to  stay  here  for  a  while." 

"I  don't  know  as  it's  very  complimentary  for 
you  to  put  it  that  way,"  returned  the  postmistress 
coyly. 

"Oh,  of  course,  it  will  be  a  pleasure,"  returned  Mr. 
Frothingham  gallantly,  "but  it  would  increase  my 
anticipation  if  I  knew  that  I  was  going  to  have  a  bed 
and  three  meals  a  day.  You  know  that  does  help." 
He  beamed  upon  the  two  ladies  with  an  excellent  set 


WILLIS  FROTHINGHAM  117 

of  teeth.    His  hat  was  still  in  his  band,  revealing  his 
thinning  but  scrupulously  brushed  blond  hair. 

"Well,  have  n't  you  been  to  the  hotel?"  asked  Hetty. 

"Yes  —  that's  the  reason  I'm  worried.  I  had  lunch 
there,  or  was  it  dinner?  I  think  it  was  dinner.  You 
see,  there  were  flies.  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  men 
tioning  it.  I  thought  if  some  lady  like  yourself  would 
perhaps  take  me  in  —  " 

'  'T  ain't  that  I  would  n't  be  pleased  to  accommo 
date  you,  but  you  know  how  it  is  with  us  professional' 
women.  We  don't  have  the  time  to  look  after  our  homes 
as  we  should.  It  ain't  that  I  don't  love  my  home,  be 
cause  I  do,  but  my  duty  lays  elsewhere.  I  'm  the  post 
mistress,  you  see.  Now,  right  under  your  nose,  Mr. 
Frothingham,"  added  Hetty  archly,  "sets  the  best  cook 
in  Leacock.  Meet  Mrs.  Berry,  wife  of  the  proprietor." 

Simon  Berry  had  been  growing  increasingly  curious 
concerning  the  well-dressed  stranger,  and  now  he  ap 
proached. 

"Could  you  be  induced,  Mrs.  Berry?"  besought  Mr. 
Frothingham.  "If  you  only  knew  how  hungry  I  am." 

Simon  Berry's  eyes  stared  coldly  as  he  drew  near  and 
heard  this  fervent  speech.  Hetty,  fearing  some  rude 
ness  to  one  who  promised  such  a  desirable  break  in 
the  monotony  of  village  life,  hastened  to  speak. 

"This  is  Mr.  Frothin'ham,  Mr.  Berry,  Mr.  Willis 
Frothin'ham,"  she  added,  as  if  the  Christian  name 
threw  all  the  light  on  the  subject  that  was  necessary. 

"Mr.  Berry,  you  come  in  the  nick  of  time,"  said  the 
stranger,  astonishing  the  worthy  Simon  by  shaking 
hands  with  him. 

"This  young  man  wants  we  should  take  him  to 
board,"  explained  Martha. 


118  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"We  don't  take  boarders,"  was  the  gruff  rejoinder, 
as  Mr.  Berry  regained  possession  of  his  hand. 

"That  makes  me  all  the  more  crazy  to  come,"  de 
clared  the  young  man  cheerfully.  "You  see,  Mrs. — 
Mrs.  — "  He  looked  at  Hetty  inquiringly. 

"Miss  Woodward,"  explained  Hetty  graciously. 

"Miss  Woodward  —  pretty  name  —  no  wonder  you 
were  not  willing  to  change  it!  This  lady  confided  to 
me  that  your  wife  is  the  best  cook  in  town." 

"He's  one  o'  these  here  confidence  men,"  decided 
Simon  mentally. 

"I  s'pose  you  think  we're  pretty  green  out  here," 
he  sneered  coldly. 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  mean  to  give  you  all  sorts  of  refer 
ences,"  said  the  stranger  hastily,  while  Hetty  burned 
with  indignation  against  Simon;  "but  I  tell  you  frankly 
as  man  to  man,  if  I  have  to  live  at  that  hotel  I  shall  be 
tempted  to  go  back  on  my  bargain.  It's  a  pretty  town 
you  have  here,  and  I  thought  I'd  found  just  about  what 
would  suit  me,  but  I  draw  the  line  —  I  do  draw  the 
line  at  another  experience  like  my  meal  of  an  hour  ago. 
Of  course,  I  might  hire  a  small  boy  to  sway  a  long  fan 
over  me  during  dinner." 

"He  says  it's  flies,  Simon,"  explained  Martha,  who 
was  prepossessed  by  the  young  man's  frank,  boyish 
manner. 

"What  you  doin'  here?"  demanded  Simon  bluntly. 

"Buying  a  summer  place." 

The  answer  was  so  totally  unexpected  that  a  short, 
stunned  silence  ensued. 

Simon  Berry's  expression  slowly  became  alert.  Of 
course,  if  this  was  a  matter  which  involved  future  cus 
tomers,  he  did  n't  wish  to  behave  in  a  manner  bad  for 


WILLIS  FROTHINGHAM  119 

trade,  but  caution  must  still  be  observed.  Anybody 
could  make  a  real  estate  deal  a  cloak  for  foul  play. 
The  question  was  whether  this  young  man's  nerve  was 
backed  by  a  bank  account,  or  whether  his  debonair 
and  assured  manner  covered  the  intention  to  annex 
that  of  other  people. 

Hetty  had  instant  visions  of  Leacock,  bursting  like 
a  butterfly  from  its  dull  chrysalis,  and  becoming  a  sum 
mer  resort. 

"Yes,  we've  got  a  very  pretty  town  here,"  she  said, 
with  an  assumption  of  nonchalance.  "It's  quite  lively 
and  entertainin'  at  times.  We've  got  an  elegant  movie 
theater,  painted  up  snow-white,  —  you  may  have 
noticed  it." 

Mr.  Frothingham  nodded  with  an  air  of  interest. 
"Yes,  yes,  indeed,  I  did.  We  do,  though,  have  movie 
theaters  in  town,  and  we  do  not  have  such  trees,  such 
space,  such  breeze  —  in  short,  such  possibilities  of  — 
of  —  country  life." 

Simon's  face  brightened.  "Had  you  thought  of  any 
special  property?" 

"I  had,  yes;  I  went  to  see  it  this  morning."  Three 
pairs  of  eyes  sought  his  eagerly.  "This  place  used  to 
be  owned  by  a  Mrs.  Laird.  I'm  a  lone  lorn  bachelor 
and  I  think  it  will  just  suit  me." 

A  gasp  of  astonishment  breathed  from  his  listeners. 

"I  knew  it!"  thought  Simon.  "He  ain't  any  more 
goin'  to  buy  that  forlorn,  ramshackle  place  than  I  be." 

One  look  at  the  proposed  purchaser  revealed  such 
evidence  of  prosperity  as  to  make  the  proposition 
ridiculous.  Whereupon  Willis  Frothingham  went  on 
to  speak  of  the  man  in  the  next  village  who  had  fore 
closed  the  mortgage  and  to  speak  of  other  people  con- 


120  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

nected  with  the  affair  until  even  Simon  Berry,  clever 
as  he  was,  was  convinced  that  there  must  be  something 
in  it. 

"You  can  get  prettier  places  than  that,"  said  Martha. 

"Well,  there  are  points  about  the  Laird  place  that 
I  like,"  returned  the  young  man.  "I  see  possibilities. 
There  are  a  few  fine  trees,  the  land  at  the  back  runs 
down  to  a  brook,  and  I  'm  especially  fond  of  a  brook. 
This  one  flings  an  arm,  as  it  were,  about  the  little  place 
and  sings  as  it  goes,  and  there  is  a  tangle  of  wild  flowers 
along  its  banks  that  is  very  alluring.  It  is  real  country." 

Simon  listened  to  this  burst  of  enthusiasm  with  a 
skeptical  and  lowered  brow. 

"You  mustn't  tempt  me  with  any  other  place,  be 
cause  I  feel  sure  I  should  come  back  to  this.  My  mind 
is  made  up,  you  see." 

"Not  till  the  deed  is  signed,"  said  Simon. 

"It  is  signed,"  was  the  still  more  surprising  response. 

Simon  blinked.  In  order  to  be  on  the  safe  side  he 
yielded  to  the  stranger's  importunities  and  agreed  that 
he  should  remain  under  his  roof  for  the  present,  but 
privately  he  determined  to  listen  alertly  for  the  first 
sign  of  the  man's  real  designs  in  Leacock. 

When  Simon  and  his  wife  were  alone  that  night  in 
the  privacy  of  their  chamber,  he  relieved  his  feelings. 
"There's  something  fishy  about  all  this,  Martha,  as 
sure  as  you're  a  foot  high." 

"Sh,  sh,  Simon,  these  walls  are  thin.  Wa'n't  he  a 
perfect  gentleman  at  supper?" 

"Of  course;  the  worst  of  'em  are  always  the  smooth 
est.  That  Laird  place  anybody  would  say  is  one  o'  the 
last  in  town  to  sell.  It'll  take  an  awful  sight  o'  money 
to  put  it  in  livable  shape.  You  know  that." 


WILLIS  FROTHINGHAM 

"Well,  don't  you  worry  about  it,  Simon,"  said  his 
wife  pacifically.  "Perhaps  they've  found  oil  on  it." 

Her  husband  amazed  her  by  staring  into  her  eyes 
excitedly  and  grabbing  her  arm.  "Mebbe  they  have!" 
he  ejaculated. 

"Nonsense,  Simon  Berry,  nonsense,"  she  returned, 
laughing.  "Let  go  my  arm.  I  was  only  joking." 

"Many  a  true  word  spoken  in  jest,"  he  returned.  "I 
tell  you  there's  some  explanation.  A  young,  prosper 
ous  city  man  ain't  comin'  out  here,  where  even  the 
automobiles  skip  through  if  they've  got  enough  gas, 
and  buy  a  neglected,  weedy  place  like  May  Ca'line's. 
There's  some  explanation,  mark  my  word.  Willis 
Frothin'ham  don't  want  that  place  no  more  than  a 
toad  wants  a  tail." 

"Well,  I  would  n't  lay  awake  over  it,  Simon." 

He  looked  abstracted.  "If  there's  oil  there,  why 
should  n't  there  be  oil  here?"  he  said.  And  though  his 
wife  pooh-poohed  and  laughed  at  him  again,  he  stared 
at  the  ceiling  long  after  she  had  begun  to  snore. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  RIDDLE 

WILLIS  FROTHINGHAM  proved  to  be  a  very 
stirring  body  in  the  quiet  pool  of  Leacock. 
Hetty  Woodward  took  pains  with  her  coiffure  every 
day  now,  and  looked  forward  to  mail-time  with  all  the 
ardor  of  the  seventeen-year-old  belles  of  the  village. 

Simon  Berry's  bald  head  and  chin  whiskers  were 
often  seen  peering  about  his  boarder's  newly  acquired 
property.  He  neglected  his  business  to  pace  off  May 
Ca'line's  sunburnt  grass,  and  wander  down  back  of  the 
house  over  the  decline  to  the  brook-side.  He  viewed 
the  clear,  gurgling  water,  rippling  over  its  pebbles,  with 
puzzled  brow,  and  stooping,  picked  up  a  handful  of  its 
mica-flecked  sand. 

"They  may  be  placer-minin'  here  some  day,"  he 
muttered,  his  chin  whiskers  sticking  out  defiantly. 
"He  can't  fool  me.  There's  somethin'  here  more'n  we 


see." 


While  he  was  thus  cogitating  one  morning,  Froth- 
ingham  sauntered  up  to  him  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  "I  see  you  agree  with  me,"  he  said  pleas 
antly;  "nothing  prettier  than  a  brook.  Heat  can't 
scare  the  wild  flowers  away  from  its  banks,  and  that 
low  spot  where  the  rushes  flourish  I  '11  warrant  show 
plenty  of  fleurs  de  Us  in  the  right  season." 

Simon  Berry  turned  a  frowning  gaze  upon  the  com 
placent  owner.  "You  can't  make  me  believe  you  care 
a  darn  for  wild  flowers,"  he  responded  deliberately. 


THE  RIDDLE  123 

"My  dear  Mr.  Berry."  The  boarder  laughed  toward 
the  jutting  chin- whiskers  (it  was  almost  too  tempting 
to  have  them  so  near).  "Why  should  n't  I?  Does  n't 
everybody?" 

"Oh,  of  course,  you  can  keep  your  own  counsel; 
only  I'll  let  you  understand,  right  now,  I  ain't  fooled. 
I  leave  that  to  the  women-folks." 

Frothingham  laughed  again,  and  linking  his  arm 
through  that  of  the  baffled  Simon,  swung  him  around 
until  they  viewed  the  house. 

"A  forlorn- looking  place,"  he  remarked. 

"Don't  you  s'pose  I  know  that?"  retorted  the  other. 
"No  doubt  you're  sayin'  to  yourself,  ' Here's  Simple 
Simon  all  right,'  but  that's  where  you  make  a  mistake, 
young  man.  I'm  onto  you.  That's  what  I  am  —  onto 
you." 

"It  seems  as  if  you  must  know  something  about  this 
place  that  I  don't,"  said  Frothingham.  "Is  it  haunted? 
Why  should  I  come  here  to  lay  the  ghost?" 

"That's  your  lookout,  and  you  know  darned  well 
why  you're  doin'  it.  No,  I  don't  know  anything  about 
the  place  that  you  don't;  but  you  know  somethin' 
about  it  that  I  don't,  and  't  would  n't  hurt  if  you  should 
tell  me.  I  hain't  come  to  be  over  fifty  years  old  without 
learnin'  how  to  keep  a  secret." 

Willis  Frothingham's  fair  face,  beneath  the  thinning 
blond  hair,  was  the  picture  of  bland  and  surprised  inno 
cence. 

"Why,  it's  no  secret.  I  told  you.  I  want  to  fix  up 
the  old  place  for  a  summer  home." 

"Well,  you  can  go  where  it's  a  damned  sight  hotter 
than  summer,  then,  and  stay  there;  you  need  n't  waste 
all  that  mush  about  brooks  and  wild  flowers  on  me.  I 


124  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

wa'n't  born  yisterday.  Automobiles  do  sometimes  run 
out  o'  gas  and  stop  here.  I  may  have  hayseed  in  my 
whiskers,  but  I  knew  the  sort  you  were  the  minute  I 
clapped  eyes  on  ye.  You  need  n't  laugh  in  your  sleeve 
at  me,  'cause  you've  never  took  me  in  for  one  minute." 
Mr.  Berry  was  quite  red  in  the  face  by  this  time  and 
he  tried  to  jerk  his  arm  away,  but  in  vain.  His  boarder 
held  it  as  in  a  vise. 

"On  the  contrary,  you  took  me  in;  if  you  had  n't  I 
don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  me.  I  should 
have  done  some  desperate  deed,  drowned  myself  in  the 
brook,  probably." 

"Yes,"  drawled  Simon,  with  biting  sarcasm,  —  "the 
ripplin'  brook  that  stretches  an  arm  protectin'ly 
around  the  place.  That  stuff  goes  with  Hetty  Wood 
ward.  She  writes  verses  for  the  '  Eagle.'  Don't  you 
s'pose  I  know  you'd  rather  see  one  highball  than  all 
the  brook  water  in  existence?  H'm." 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Berry,  I  don't  see  why  you  slam  your 
village  the  way  you  do." 

"It  ain't  slammin' the  village;  it's  your  choosin' this 
ramshackle  place,  when  I  keep  tellin'  you  there  are  — " 

"But,  man  alive,  remember  ramshackle  places  go 
cheap.  Are  n't  you  shrewd  enough  to  think  of  that? 
I'm  no  millionaire." 

"Well  —  of  course, "  —  responded  Simon  exasper 
ated, —  "I'm  also  shrewd  enough  to  think  a  little 
farther  than  the  end  o'  my  nose.  Look  here,  mebbe 
I'd  ought  not  to  ask  it,  but  have  you  got  a  par'litic 
father  or  a  —  no  offense,  but  you  bein'  a  member  of 
the  family  as  it  were  —  or  mebbe  a  half-witted  sister 
that  you  're  plannin'  for,  with  a  quiet  sort  of  a  —  now 
• —  an  asylum  like?" 


TEE  RIDDLE  125 

Frothingham  bit  his  lip.  "I  shall  have  to  deny  it," 
he  returned.  "I  have  n't  that  excuse." 

Simon  pulled  away  his  sympathizing  hand,  and  his 
mouth  resumed  its  hard  line.  "Then  you  want  'em  to 
believe  you're  just  a  plain  fool." 

"Why,  I  was  assured  that  there  were  a  few  good 
trees,  and  the  brook." 

"Look  here,"  said  Simon  in  a  sort  of  solemn  rage, 
"do  you  mean  that  you  bought  this  God-forsaken  place 
without  having  seen  it?" 

Meekly  the  culprit  nodded.  "It  sounded  so  good," 
he  said.  "The  brook— " 

"Damn  the  brook!"  shouted  Simon  Berry.  "It  is, 
then,  just  the  way  I  thought.  There's  somethin'  fishy 
about  the  whole  deal.  Your  name's  against  you. 
Frothin'ham  —  Froth,  that's  what  you're  givin'  us, 
and  expectin'  us  to  swallow  it." 

"You  forget  the  ham,  Mr.  Berry.  Ham  is  a  good 
nourishing  substance,"  suggested  the  other  mildly. 

"You  hain't  any  more  idea  o'  plankin'  down  thou 
sands  o'  dollars  to  fix  up  that  worm-eaten  house  and 
these  overrun  grounds  than  I  have.  You're  after  some- 
thin'  else  here.  Now,  what  is  it?  Is  there  oil  in  the 
ground,  or  gold  in  that  blarsted  brook?  I  shall  know 
sometime,  and  you  might  as  well  tell  me  now." 

"Mr.  Berry,  you  are  perfectly  delightful,  and  what 
an  appetite  for  dinner  we  shall  have  after  this  pleasant 
little  argument."  The  speaker  endeavored  again  to 
link  his  arm  in  that  of  his  host,  but  Simon  jerked  away. 
"Now,  just  to  show  you  that  you're  mistaken,  and 
that  I  'm  all  ham  and  no  froth,  I  'm  going  to  get  informa 
tion  from  you  this  minute  as  to  the  advisability  of  em 
ploying  village  labor.  What  about  your  carpenters? 


126  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Have  you  any  workmen  fit  to  tackle  that  house,  put  on 
the  new  roof,  and  so  forth?" 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can  talk  about  carpenters,  and  then 
find  fault  with  this  one  and  that  one,  gamin'  time  and 
puttin'  off." 

"Guess  again,"  said  Frothingham,  and  this  time 
the  hand  he  laid  on  the  other's  shoulder  could  not  be 
unseated.  Simon  scowled  and  wriggled,  but  his  captor 
laughed  and  held  on. 

"Not  till  ytm  tell  me  the  best  man  for  the  business. 
The  work  shall  begin  to-morrow." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  determination  in  the  new 
owner's  face.  Simon,  the  tormented,  stared  for  a  skep 
tical  moment. 

"To-morrow?"  he  said.   "To-morrow?"  he  repeated. 

Willis,  laughing,  and  dropping  his  hand,  said,  "Lead 
me  to  him." 

A  week  later  Simon  addressed  his  wife  meditatively; 
"You  bet  I'm  glad  I  never  really  insulted  him,"  he 
said.  "He's  a  fool,  but  it'll  put  money  in  our  pocket 
to  have  him  settle  here,  so  I  s'pose  I'm  another  to 
quarrel  with  my  bread  and  butter.  Look  at  the  folks 
he's  hired.  The  hotel's  filled  up  with  'em.  The  new 
roof's  goin'  on,  an'  the  way  they're  workin'  over  them 
grounds  is  a  caution." 

"Dear  May  Ca'line!  What  would  she  say?"  said 
Martha. 

"She's  got  common  sense,  so  I  guess  she'd  say  what 
I  do.  Why  not  build  a  new  cottage?" 

"I  did  find  out  one  thing  about  him,"  said  Martha, 
lowering  her  voice;  "I  come  across  some  of  his  busi 
ness  cards  in  his  room  and  I  took  one.  I  did  n't  think 
it  was  any  harm,  but  I  guess  I  ought  to  put  it  back." 


THE  RIDDLE 


127 


"Let  me  see  it."  Simon  swooped  upon  the  bit  of 
pasteboard  which  his  wife  took  from  behind  the  pin 
cushion.  Reread:  — 


WILLIS  FROTHINGHAM 

ARCHITECT 
Suite  i in — Broadway  Building 


"I  did  n't  know  as  architects  was  so  rich,"  said  Mar 
tha,  still  in  a  hushed  voice.  "I've  felt  all  along  he  was 
doin'  this  for  a  bride." 

Simon  gazed  at  the  card  in  silence.  Architects  neither 
bored  for  oil  nor  mined  for  gold.  He  drew  a  long  breath. 
"All  right,  if  any  girl  is  fool  enough  to  marry  such  a 
haphazard  critter,  let  her  do  it,  have  a  large  family, 
and  trade  at  my  store!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

HETTY'S  LETTER 

DEAR  MAY  CAROLINE:  — 

It's  a  good  thing  that  I  have  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer;  for 
I  don't  believe  Martha  hardly  ever  writes  to  you.  Of  course 
writing  so  much  for  the  papers  as  I  have  makes  it  easy  for 
me  to  throw  off  a  letter ',  and  she's  busy  with  housework; 
and  especially  now  that  she's  keeping  boarders.  Ain't  that  a 
surprise?  'T ain't  the  school-teacher  either.  I  suppose  you 
did  n't  think  anybody 'd  ever  want  to  board  in  Leacock,  more 
than  the  drummers  to  the  hotel.  Well,  let  me  tell  you  the 
time  ain't  far  off  when  boarding  in  Leacock  in  summer-time 
will  be  all  the  go.  I've  got  so  much  to  tell  you  I'm  nearly 
bursting;  and  this  time  I  did  say  to  Martha,  let  me  be  the 
one  to  tell  May  Caroline,  and  she  was  only  too  glad  to  have 
me,  'cause  it's  a  cross  to  her  to  write. 

When  the  movie  theater  set  up  here  and  the  lamps  across 
the  front  looked  so  elegant  along  the  snowy  exteerior,  I  said 
to  myself,  "It  looks  like  a  sign  of  waking  up."  Well,  I  guess 
it  was.  At  any  rate,  we're  awake. 

I'll  go  back  to  the  beginning.  One  day  Martha  and  me 
was  having  a  little  talk  after  the  mail  was  distributed  and 
there  was  nobody  else  in  the  store,  when  all  at  once  in  walked 
a  young  man.  If  you'd  seen  him,  May  Caroline,  dressed  just 
grand  in  a  light  gray  suit  and  so  handsome  and  elegant.  He 
asked  for  a  letter  for  Willis  Frothingham.  Well,  I  handed  it 
out.  I'd  been  wondering  who  would  claim  it,  and  he  began 
to  talk  with  us  just  like  an  old  friend.  He'd  spent  the  night 
at  the  hotel  and  the  flies  in  the  dining-room  had  got  on  his 
nerves,  and  it  seems  he'd  set  his  heart  on  living  at  my  house 
'cause  he  was  going  to  stay  a  while  in  Leacock.  Well,  you 
can  see  how  it  was.  I  could  n't  take  him  for  many  reasons 
[here  May  Ca'line  smiled  at  a  mental  picture  of  Miss  Wood 
ward's  abode].  First  place,  it  would  n't  look  very  well  for  us 
to  be  living  there  alone,  and  second  place,  a  profeshunal 
woman  has  to  be  away  so  much.  Well,  to  make  a  long  story 
short,  Martha  took  him.  Simon  acted  as  crabbed  as  he  always 


HETTY'S  LETTER  129 

does,  but  this  man  was  the  kind  that  would  melt  a  graven 
image  and  he  melted  that  old  grouch  of  a  Simon  Berry. 

Now,  if  you  guessed  one  thousand  times  you  would  n't 
guess  what  brought  him,  a  bachelder  —  oh,  I  suppose  about 
thirty-five  —  to  a  little  inland  town  like  ours.  Well,  I  '11  tell 
you.  It  was  to  buy  a  summer  home.  Then  it  would  take  you 
another  thousand  guesses,  maybe  two,  to  guess  what  place 
he's  bought.  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  It's  yours.  We  all  think  it's 
the  queerest  thing  that  could  ever  happen  in  this  world.  Of 
course  it  was  a  pretty  home  once.  I  ain't  meaning  to  hurt 
your  feelings,  May  Caroline,  but  just  as  a  business  proposi 
tion,  as  Simon  says,  it  looks  as  if  Mr.  Frothingham  should 
have  a  manager.  He  talks  just  beautiful  about  the  brook  and 
those  three  big  trees  —  you'd  think  they  was  the  only  trees 
in  New  England  to  listen  to  him  go  on.  It  makes  Simon  as 
mad  as  a  hornet  to  hear  him.  He  believes  in  folks  getting 
their  money's  worth,  and  every  day  he  finds  out  some  new 
plan  of  Mr.  Frothingham's  and  he  growls  and  says  a  fool 
and  his  money  are  soon  parted. 

He's  ordering  furnishings  for  the  house.  Everything 
cleaned  out,  woodwork  fixed  up,  and  new  furniture  and  rugs 
ordered. 

A  person  he  called  a  decorator  came  out  here.  All  your 
old  paper  is  peeled  off,  May  Caroline.  Every  room  is  going 
to  be  fixed  up  with  something  he  calls  a  color  skeem.  I 
did  n't  like  to  show  my  ignorance,  so  I  did  n't  ask  much.  I 
just  heard  Mr.  Frothingham  and  this  man  talking  about  it, 
but  you  better  believe  I  don't  miss  a  great  deal  up  there  and 
I'll  keep  you  informed.  One  thing  sure,  it's  going  to  be  the 
grandest,  sweetest  home  for  miles  around. 

Every  girl  in  town  is  chasing  after  him,  but  he  gets  out  of 
all  the  invitations.  He  tells  them  he's  a  man  of  one  idea  till 
he  gets  this  job  done,  then  he's  going  to  give  a  rousing  dance 
in  the  hall;  so  they  are  all  looking  forward  to  that.  Tell  Joe 
he'll  have  to  send  you  out  here  when  the  last  stroke  is  done. 
I  '11  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Frothingham.  He  will  be  interested 
to  see  the  old  owner  of  what  he  calls  his  nest.  I  asked  him  if 
he  knew  Joe  Laird,  but  he  does  n't. 

Good-bye  for  this  time,  May  Caroline.  I'm  in  a  hurry 
to  get  your  letter  so  don't  forget 

Your  loving  friend 

HETTY  WOODWARD 


130  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

May  Ca'line  sat  for  a  long  time  with  the  letter  in  her 
lap.  Tears  gathered  slowly  in  her  eyes  and  dropped  un 
noticed  on  the  paper.  Her  thoughts  went  back  over  all 
the  years  in  that  home  where  she  went  as  a  bride.  She 
thought  with  tenderness  and  compassion  of  the  young 
girl  who  strove  daily,  and  at  last  successfully,  to  put 
away  the  thought  of  that  other  man  who  for  a  time  had 
held  such  a  temptation  to  her  to  break  her  troth.  She 
thought  of  the  yearnings  that  had  beset  her  when  she 
discovered  that  her  honest,  kindly  Joseph  would  never 
share  any  of  her  own  aspirations.  She  remembered  how 
quickly  he  fell  asleep  if  she  attempted  to  read  to  him, 
and  how  blank  was  the  expression  of  his  face  if  she  be 
gan  to  discuss  any  subject  of  the  day  which  traveled 
beyond  the  confines  of  the  county  seat.  She  remem 
bered  how  the  final  victory  over  temptation  came  with 
the  arrival  of  little  Joe.  She  recalled  his  development 
and  her  joy  at  his  responsiveness.  What  happiness  had 
been  hers! 

So  the  old  home  was  gone.  Every  feature  changed 
beyond  recognition.  May  Ca'line  closed  her  eyes  in 
endurance  of  pain  as  she  recalled  the  looks  of)  it  all 
in  those  last  desperate,  threadbare  months.  Was  the 
present  situation  any  better?  It  was  only  the  natural 
sunniness  of  her  disposition  which  made  it  possible  to 
forget  for  moments  that  her  darling  boy  was  being  de 
ceived  by  a  woman  who  hated  her  and  wished  her  away. 
No  amount  of  optimistic  reasoning  could  keep  that 
terror  from  rushing  back  on  her  at  times. 

She  tried  to  show  Joe  Hetty's  letter  as  they  sat  alone 
one  morning  at  the  breakfast-table,  but  as  usual  he  was 
in  a  great  hurry.  "Can't  you  tell  me  what  is  in  it?"  he 
asked. 


HETTY'S  LETTER  131 

"Yes."  May  Ca'Iine's  voice  was  so  serious  and  her 
heavy  eyes  so  pensive  as  she  replied  that  he  repented. 

"Of  course,  if  it  is  important  enough — "  he  began. 

"No,  dear.  Probably  not  important  to  anybody  but 
me.  The  old  house  is  sold,  that's  all." 

"Is  that  a  fact?  I  thought  Holcomb  would  have  that 
on  his  hands  for  a  generation." 

"According  to  Hetty  some  grand  gentleman  has 
bought  it  and  is  making  it  into  an  ideal  summer  home. 
Hetty  says"  —  the  speaker  paused  and  swallowed  the 
largest  lump  of  her  experience  —  "says  he  is  in  love 
with  the  brook  and  the  trees  —  your  brook,  Joe." 

Her  son  forgot  the  morning  paper  and  the  day's  work 
for  the  moment.  His  mother's  eyes  were  bright  with 
tears,  which  she  held  back  bravely. 

"Couldn't  have  got  on  without  that  brook,  could 
I?  It  was  a  regular  nurse  for  you,  honey,  and  you  never 
minded  how  wet  we  got.  Now,  if  I  could  have  hung 
on  to  that  mortgage  for  you,  you  would  be  on  Easy 
Street.  The  purchaser  must  be  of  the  genus,  'the  world 
forgetting  and  by  the  world  forgot!'  Who  does  Miss 
Woodward  say  he  is?" 

"Mr.  Willis  Frothingham." 

" Fr othingham I "  repeated  Joe  in  italics.  "Oh,  but 
it  could  n't  be  the  same.  The  Willis  Frothingham  I 
know  of  is  an  architect  coming  into  fashion  and  on  the 
top  of  the  wave.  It  is  to  laugh  to  think  of  Frothingham 
in  Leacock.  I  don't  know  him,  but  I  've  seen  him  often." 

"They  are  making  it  all  over,  even  the  grounds,  Joe. 
Bay-windows,  sleeping-porches,  and  grand  new  furni 
ture." 

"Well,  Leacock  is  looking  up,  is  n't  it?"  Joe  rose 
and  came  around  to  his  mother's  chair  and  put  his  arms 


132  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

about  her.  "You  don't  care,  do  you,  dear?"  he  said 
softly.  "Think  of  that  last  evening  we  had  together 
there.  Was  n't  it  a  good  visit?  Yet,  we  would  n't  see 
it  again  looking  like  that,  would  we?" 

May  Ca'line  clung  to  him  and  a  tremor  swept  over 
her.  "I  couldn't  see  it  looking  any  other  way,  Joe. 
Don't  ever  let  me  go  to  Leacock  again.  Don't  let 


me." 


"I  forbid  it  right  now."  The  speaker  laughed  and 
shook  her  gently.  "Do  you  hear?  Don't  you  dare  to 
go  to  Leacock.  That  chapter  is  closed  —  closed." 

"It  wasn't  all  a  sad  chapter,  Joe?"  The  question 
was  piteous. 

"I  should  say  not.  I  haven't  had  any  sprees  since 
that  were  one  half  as  much  fun  as  some  I  had  there. 
Good-bye,  there's  Nora,  be  good  children  1"  He  patted 
a  little  shoulder  once  more  and  fled. 

This  was  another  morning  when  May  Ca'line  could 
not  stay  in  the  house. 

While  the  three  others  were  at  breakfast  she  left  the 
house  and  sallied  forth  into  the  summer  day.  Entering 
the  park  she  moved  toward  the  bench  which  always 
attracted  her  from  its  associations.  Her  pamphlet 
was  in  her  hand.  She  had  grown  to  love  it. 

May  Ca'line  had  been  reading  and  thinking  some  time 
when  a  voice  behind  her  caused  her  to  straighten  up 
with  some  excitement  of  association. 

"Why,  good-morning,"  it  said  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 
"What  an  apparition." 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Chetwyn,"  returned  a  second 
voice.  "Of  course,  you  are  astonished,  but  I  went  to 
your  house  and  the  maid  told  me  you  were  here.  I  was 
determined  to  find  you  if  I  tramped  over  every  square 


HETTY'S  LETTER  133 

foot  of  ground  in  the  place.  What  luck  to  find  you  almost 
the  first  thing!" 

A  wall  of  high  shrubbery  behind  May  Ca'line's  bench 
concealed  the  speakers,  but  she  was  within  four  feet  of 
them  and  she  had  by  this  time  recognized  that  the  Cer 
tain  one  was  again  her  neighbor.  She  listened  acutely. 
All  fear  of  eavesdropping  was  remote  from  her.  Her 
whole  mind  was  concentrated  on  the  determination  not 
to  let  her  friend  escape  her  again.  If  she  should  arise 
and  go  away  with  the  owner  of  the  second  voice  May 
Ca'line  would  jump  up  and  run  after  her  and  beg  for 
her  address.  She  was  sure  that  the  Certain  one  would 
remember  her  and  respond  to  her  need;  but  there  was 
no  sound  of  moving. 

"What  did  you  want  of  me  so  early  in  the  morning, 
Miss  Vivian?"  went  on  the  voice  that  was  music  in  the 
listener's  ears. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  Ferdy." 

"How  is  the  dear  boy?" 

"No  better  and  growing  so  capricious  and  strange. 
Oh,  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  how  heavenly  a  home  is  with  no 
sickness  in  it!" 

"Yes,  my  dear.  Tell  me  all.  Do  you  mean  that  your 
father  has  consented  to  my  help?" 

"No,  oh,  no;  he  is  as  afraid  of  your  ideas  as  ever. 
That  does  not  hurt  your  feelings,  does  it,  Mrs. Chetwyn? 
I  'm  so  unhappy  I  have  to  be  very  honest." 

The  Certain  one  gave  a  little  laugh,  which  May 
Ca'line  thought  one  of  the  most  loving  sounds  she  had 
ever  heard. 

"That  is  entirely  right,  my  dear,  but  it  is  even  pos 
sible  to  be  happy  and  honest." 

"I  feel  that  you  are  a  monument  of  strength.    You 


134  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

know  that;  and  when  I  come  to  a  very  hard  place  you 
are  the  first  one  I  think  of." 

"I'm  glad  to  help.   What  is  it  now?" 

"Why,  Ferdy  doesn't  like  the  gayety  at  Rose 
Ledge.  You  may  believe  me  that  he  is  on  my  mind  so 
much  I  would  rather  have  it  all  quiet  if  father  would 
consent,  but  it  hurts  him,  so  I'm  through  asking  it. 
Ferdy  is  in  it,  but  not  of  it  out  there.  Think  of  the  feel 
ings  of  a  strong  young  college  boy,  laid  out  in  a  wheeled 
chair  like  an  old  man." 

"I  don't  like  to,"  was  the  response. 

"At  last  he  made  up  his  mind  he  wanted  to  be  moved 
in  to  the  town  house.  So  his  apartments  were  made 
ready  and  he  is  there.  He  does  n't  want  to  see  visitors, 
not  even  me,  Mrs.  Chetwyn." 

May  Ca'line  heard  a  choking  sound,  and  a  sympa 
thetic  murmur. 

"Daddy  drops  in  on  him  every  day,  but  the  doctor 
always  tells  us  to  humor  Ferdy.  He  says  nervousness  is 
a  woman — capricious.  He  says  you  can  have  a  hys 
terical  spine.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing  as  a 
hysterical  bone?  He  says  he  knew  of  a  great,  burly 
policeman  who  had  a  stiff  knee  that  could  n't  be  cured. 
He  had  to  ride,  and  his  leg  stuck  right  out  when  he  was 
on  a  horse,  so  at  last  the  doctors  decided  on  an  opera 
tion.  He  was  put  under  the  anaesthetic  and  as  soon  as 
they  lifted  him  to  take  him  to  the  table,  that  knee  bent 
just  like  the  other  one.  It  was  a  hysterical  knee.  Well, 
all  we  can  do  is  to  obey  the  doctor  and  humor  Ferdy,  but 
at  last  he  has  expressed  a  wish.  He  wants  some  one  to 
come  in  and  read  to  him  for  a  while  every  day.  I've 
read  to  him  hours  myself,  of  course,  but  he  finally 
refused  to  let  me.  He  said  he  knew  I  ought  to  be  doing 


HETTY'S  LETTER  135 

something  else  and  he  was  sure  he  was  keeping  me 
from  people." 

The  voice  stopped  with  a  sudden  choke  again  and  the 
other  answered:  "I  see  just  how  hard  it  has  been  for 
you,  dear  Miss  Vivian.  Did  you  want  me  to  help  you 
find  a  reader?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Chetwyn.  It  sounds  easy,  but  it  is  going 
to  be  very  hard  to  find  any  one  to  suit  Ferdy.  He  has 
laid  down  the  law  against  any  young  person,  and  yet 
a  middle-aged  or  elderly  person  who  would  want  such  a 
position  could  hardly  be  expected  to  be  cheerful,  or 
if  she  were,  it  would  be  that  put-on  kind  that  Ferdy 
would  see  through  at  once.  I  told  you,  did  n't  I,  when 
I  called  you  up  the  other  day,  that  his  eyes  have  to  be 
bandaged  now?  The  sight  has  been  examined  and  seems 
to  be  all  right,  only  so  frightfully  sensitive  that  light 
gives  him  pain  that  he  can't  bear.  Oh,  Mrs.  Chetwyn! 
I  have  to  be  so  bright  before  father  and  with  my  friends, 
it  is  such  a  comfort  to  sit  here  and  just  speak  out  all 
the  things  I  think  about  so  much  and  can  never  voice. 
It  is  so  much  harder  for  a  boy  than  for  a  girl  to  have 
this  breakdown.  If  Ferdy  could  only  be  robust  and 
taking  his  place  with  the  other  boys  this  summer,  I'd 
lie  in  that  wheeled  chair  for  years!" 

And  upon  this  the  speaker  broke  down  and  had 
the  most  comfortable  cry  she  had  known  for  many  a 
month. 

"You  —  you  can  see  —  what  it  means  to  me  —  to 
have  —  this  estrangement  with  Ferdy.  To  —  to  think 
that  —  he  does  n't  want  to  see  me." 

"I  understand,  dear.  I  see  it  all.  I'm  glad  you  came 
to  me,  for  I  shall  hope  to  have  good  news  to  send  you 
soon.  If  that  position  is  open,  there  is  some  one  who 


136  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

belongs  in  it  like  the  square  peg  in  the  square  hole.  We 
have  only  to  find  him." 

"Or  her,"  said  Vivian.  "I  think  older  women  are 
more  apt  to  be  cheerful  than  older  men."  She  caught 
her  breath.  "I  must  go  now."  She  pulled  her  motor 
veil  over  her  flushed  face.  "Can  I  take  you  anywhere, 
Mrs.  Chetwyn?" 

How  May  Ca'line  listened  for  the  answer  to  this!  No 
bird  ever  poised  more  ready  for  flight  than  she  on  the 
edge  of  her  bench. 

"No,  thank  you,  Miss  Vivian.  I'm  going  to  stay  here 
and  do  a  little  work." 

May  Ca'line  sat  back  and  prayed  the  most  fervent 
prayer  of  her  life.  She  scarcely  heard  the  last  inter 
change  between  the  two  friends.  She  heard  light  steps 
move  away  on  the  gravel,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  no 
longer  audible,  she  started  from  her  place  and  fled 
quickly  around  the  shrubbery. 

"Mrs.  Chetwyn!"  she  exclaimed,  standing  panting 
with  excitement  before  the  Certain  one,  "I'm  so  thank 
ful  to  find  you!  So  thankful!  Don't  you  remember  me? 
I'm  here  again." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MRS.  CHETWYN 

AS  the  small  whirlwind  came  around  the  shrubbery 
and  faced  her,  Mrs.  Chetwyn  looked  up  with  a 
start  from  the  book  she  had  just  opened.  The  eager, 
tremulous,  bright-eyed  person  accosting  her  was  so 
different  from  the  weeping  one  she  had  once  befriended 
that  at  first  she  did  not  recognize  her,  and  May  Ca'line 
saw  it. 

"You  remember  you  talked  with  me  on  that  bench 
by  the  water  one  morning.  You  gave  me  three  rules  of 
life,  and  this"  —  the  speaker  held  out  the  pamphlet 
—  "and  I  let  you  go  without  finding  out  your  name 
or  where  you  lived  and  I  felt  despairing  about  it; 
but  I've  read  and  read  —  look  at  the  little  book!  —  and 
I've  tried  very  hard — " 

She  paused,  and  Mrs.  Chetwyn  smiled  up  at  the 
eager,  appealing  face. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said,  and  May  Ca'line  obeyed. 
"How  have  things  gone?" 

"I'm  still  unwelcome.  I'm  still  frightened  at  the 
situation,  but  it  does  n't  seem  right  to  talk  it  over  with 
my  son.  I  still  feel  that  I  'm  cumbering  the  ground.  If 
you  knew  how  I  long  to  do  something  useful  —  some 
thing  to  earn  money,  you  would  know  how  excited  I 
have  been  the  last  ten  minutes." 

May  Ca'line's  eyes  devoured  the  calm  ones  that  faced 
her. 

"You  mean  you  overheard  our  conversation?" 


138  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Yes.  I  recognized  your  voice  and  my  one  thought 
was  not  to  let  you  get  away  until  I  could  speak  to  you 
again.  I  never  thought  of  listening  to  the  conversation. 
I  did  n't  care  about  that  until  I  heard  the  wonderful 
things  the  other  lady  said." 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  began  to  feel  that  this  was  a  sadder 
case  than  she  had  realized.  What  was  there  in  what 
Vivian  Breed  had  said  to  cause  the  radiance  in  the  face 
of  this  faded  little  person?  Her  troubles  must  have 
unbalanced  her. 

"What  made  me  come  here  this  morning?"  went  on 
May  Ca'line  fervently.  "What  made  you  come  here? 
What  made  that  lady  find  you  sitting  where  I  could  n't 
help  overhearing  what  she  said?  It  was  this"  —  the 
speaker  again  held  out  the  well-worn  pamphlet —  "and 
praying  to  God  every  day  to  give  me  strength  to  live  by 
the  three  rules.  He  has  heard  me." 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  regarded  her  companion  in  touched 
silence.  Her  face,  her  speech,  her  manner  all  betokened 
refinement.  It  was  plain  to  Mrs.  Chetwyn's  perception 
that,  sane  or  not,  this  little  woman  was  a  lady.  The 
joyous  and  still  lovely  eyes  seemed  calling  upon  her  now 
to  rejoice  with  them. 

"I  think  I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  she  returned 
at  last. 

"Why  —  of  course,  you  don't.  I'm  afraid  I'm  too 
happy  to  talk  straight  and  it  may  sound  very  conceited 
too,  but  unless  you  know  of  some  one  who  needs  that 
position  worse  than  I  do,  and  can  fill  it,  there  is  nobody 
who  could  read  to  that  boy  better  than  I  can." 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  felt  a  pang  of  compassion.  "You?" 
she  said  gently.  "  I  don't  even  know  who  you  are." 

"No,  but  I 'm  Mrs.  Joseph  Laird, from  Leacock.  You 


MRS.  CHETWYN  139 

can  write  there  and  find  out  about  me.  The  two  things 
I  love  best  in  the  world  are  boys  and  reading,  and  I'm 
old  —  a  great  deal  older  than  I  feel  —  and  as  for  cheer 
fulness  —  I  'm  the  most  foolishly  cheerful  person  in  the 
world  when  I  'm  not  crying.  I  have  n't  had  anything 
to  be  cheerful  about  in  years, and  yet  it  is  just  as  natural 
to  me  as  to  breathe." 

The  testimony  of  the  worn  pamphlet,  the  childlike 
honesty  of  the  beseeching  eyes,  and  the  musical  voice 
all  began  to  win  Mrs.  Chetwyn's  confidence.  "If  it  is 
right  you  will  have  the  position,"  she  said  quietly.  "Of 
course  I  must  make  inquiries." 

"Certainly."  May  Ca'line  gave  a  little  half-hysterical 
sound.  "I'm  so  dreadfully  respectable  that  it  makes  me 
laugh.  What  would  my  boy  say  to  have  me  '  looked  up ' ! 
Oh,  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  all  right 
for  me  not  to  tell  Joe  ?  —  Joe 's  my  boy." 

"You  have  n't  the  position  yet,  remember." 

"No,  but  you  said  there  was  somebody  to  fit  it  as  the 
square  peg  fits  the  square  hole.  That's  me.  And  God 
sent  me  here.  I'm  sure  of  it.  Won't  you  come  right 
home  with  me  now  and  see  where  I  live?  It  is  only  a 
little  way,  and  see  my  grandchildren?  They're  dread 
fully  naughty  and  I  'm  not  allowed  to  say  a  word.  Think 
of  getting  away  from  there  every  day  and  doing  some 
thing  to  help  somebody!  Oh,  God  is  good!" 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  regarded  her  quietly,  but  inwardly 
she  said:  "You  are  a  little  dear  and  saner  than  the 
average,  I  fancy." 

"Why  don't  you  want  to  tell  your  boy?" 

"Because  he's  the  best  son  in  the  world  and  it  might 
make  him  feel  that  I  considered  that  he  could  n't  take 
care  of  .his  jnotber..  .He  has  little  idea  of  what  I  suffer 


140  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

in  his  house,  but  he  has  some,  for  he  told  me  I  might 
have  a  room  outside  any  time  I  wished." 

"Why  don't  you  go,  then?" 

"  Because  of  the  man  I  told  you  of.  He  has  n't  so 
much  freedom  to  come  to  the  house  when  I  am  there; 
but  —  but  she  goes  out  with  him  without  her  husband's 
knowledge.  I  can't  think  about  it.  I  don't  dare  to 
think  about  it." 

"What  does  your  son  do?" 

"He  is  secretary  to  a  rich  railroad  man." 

"You  must  n't  be  too  excited  about  this,  Mrs.  Laird. 
It  does  look  like  a  leading;  but  even  if  I  decide  to  let 
you  try,  a  disappointment  may  await  you.  Our  dear 
boy  is  very  capricious." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know."  May  Ca'line  clasped  her  hands 
tight  and  her  breath  caught. 

"We  would  n't  want  any  one  too  excitable.  It  would 
annoy  him  very  much." 

"No;  oh,  I  would  n't  be.  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  please  don't 
despise  me  for  conceit,  but  nobody  can  tell  me  how  to 
act  with  a  boy  whether  he's  sick  or  well." 

"This  young  man  has  had  a  year  in  college;  he  is  not 
a  child,  you  know." 

"Yes;  my  boy  isn't  either,  but  —  but  they're  all 
children,  Mrs.  Chetwyn." 

"Very  true,"  that  lady  smiled.  "I  am  no  kin  to  these 
people,  but  before  I  was  married  I  was  a  trained  nurse, 
and  about  seven  years  ago  I  took  care  of  this  young  man 
through  a  severe  illness.  He  had  no  mother,  and  his 
father  was  grateful  for  his  recovery  and  the  family  have 
all  been  very  friendly  to  me  ever  since,  although  they 
do  not  approve  of  my  change  of  thought  about  life  since 
that  time.  Mr.  Breed  is  especially  opposed." 


MRS.  CHETWYN  141 

"What  —  what  name  did  you  say?"  asked  May 
Ca'line,  the  eager  expression  of  her  face  changing. 

"Mr.  Breed.   It  is  his  son  Ferdinand  who  is  ill." 

"Is  he  —  in  the  railroad  business?" 

"Yes,  in  the  X.&Y.  Road." 

"He  is  Joe's  employer,  then!" 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  regarded  her  companion  in  surprise. 
The  alteration  in  her  appearance  was  similar  to  that 
which  comes  to  a  rose-colored  balloon  when  it  is 
pricked. 

"But  I  don't  think,"  she  returned  reassuringly,  "that 
your  boy  need  know  on  that  account.  Laird  is  not  an 
unusual  name.  Mr.  Breed  would  probably  not  connect 
you  with  his  secretary." 

May  Ca'line's  expressive  face  was  a  study.  "Fear 
not,  is  one  of  the  rules,"  she  said,  as  if  to  herself. 

"Certainly,  fear  not,"  returned  her  friend,  somewhat 
mystified.  She  smiled:  "You  behave  as  if  you  stood  in 
some  awe  of  your  dear  boy.  Would  it  be  so  portentous 
a  thing  if  he  should  hear  about  this  matter?" 

May  Ca'line  did  not  answer  for  a  minute.  Memory 
had  carried  her  back  to  the  gate  of  her  uncle's  house  in 
Leacock  one  summer  night,  and  she  heard  again  the 
last  words  she  ever  said  to  the  young  fellow  who  stood 
there  appealing  to  her:  — 

"You  mustn't  say  one  word  more,  Adam,  and  I 
must  n't.  I'm  going  to  marry  Joseph." 

She  came  to  the  realization  of  her  surroundings  with 
a  start. 

"Mrs.  Chetwyn,"  she  said,  "do  you  believe  God  sent 
me  here  this  morning?  Do  you  believe  it  is  a  leading?" 

"We  can  only  look  to  Him  and  take  our  steps  trust 
ingly.  I  will  call  up  Miss  Breed  this  afternoon  and  tell 


142  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

her  that  I  have  found  some  one  who  seems  fitted  for  the 
work.  She  will  leave  it  all  to  me.  I  can  take  you  to  the 
house  to-morrow  and  you  can  give  young  Mr.  Breed  a 
sample  of  your  reading  and  see  how  he  likes  it." 

"Oh,  I  hope  I  won't  meet  his  father!" 

"Why?"  Mrs.  Chetwyn  had  another  wave  of  doubt. 
This  little  woman  seemed  so  extremely  odd  and  change 
able. 

"I  —  I  stand  in  a  little  awe  of  him.  I  think  Joe  does. 
He  has  made  me  feel  that  way." 

"It  is  n't  at  all  likely  that  you  will  ever  see  him." 

"Would  you  mind,  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  not  telling  Miss 
Breed  that  I  am  Joe's  mother?  She  knows  Joe.  He 
might  feel,  as  I  said,  that  it  reflects  on  him  for  his 
mother  to  go  out  and  earn  money." 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  was  puzzled.  Where  was  all  the 
eagerness  and  radiance  of  a  few  minutes  ago?  "This  is 
a  strange  situation,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  have  no  proof 
of  your  identity,  you  know." 

May  Ca'line  took  Hetty's  letter  from  between  the 
leaves  of  the  pamphlet  and  passed  it  to  her  friend. 
It  was  post-marked  Leacock  and  addressed  to  Mrs. 
Joseph  Laird.  She  still  seemed  somewhat  abstracted 
and  not  troubled  by  any  concern  as  to  the  identifi 
cation. 

"I  don't  suppose  a  person  can  be  very  good  and  very 
human,  too,  can  she?"  she  said.  "To  be  very  humble 
and  not  have  any  false  pride  takes  something  much 
higher  than  human  nature,  does  n't  it?" 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  passed  back  the  letter.  "You  know 
who  said,  'He  that  would  be  greatest  among  you,  let 
him  be  the  servant  of  all,'"  she  returned.  "I'm  sure 
your  boy,  if  he  is  .such  a  fine  man  as  you  say,  would  n't 


MRS.  CHETWYN  143 

be  so  narrow  as  to  prevent  your  taking  a  position  of  this 
kind  provided  you  can  fill  it." 

"But  don't  tell  him,"  was  the  hasty  answer. 

"No,  indeed;  that  is  your  privilege." 

"And  —  you'll  be  kind  enough  not  to  tell  Miss  Breed 
that  I  am  Joe's  mother?" 

"Yes.  You  seem  to  have  become  doubtful.  Do  you 
still  feel  that  you  wish  to  try  the  work?" 

May  Ca'line's  eyes  returned  the  other's  calm  ques 
tioning  piteously.  "It  really  appeared  to  be  for  me," 
she  said.  "If  I  had  only  to  meet  the  boy!" 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  smiled.  "If  you  are  worrying  about 
Mr.  Breed,  I  assure  you  that  if  he  should  come  into  the 
room  while  you  were  there  he  would  scarcely  notice 
you.  His  mind  is  full  of  grave  responsibilities  and  his 
heart  is  wrung  by  his  son's  condition." 

"Thank  you,"  said  May  Ca'line  meekly.  "Then  will 
you  walk  home  with  me  now,  Mrs.  Chetwyn?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  I  will  call  for  you  to-morrow  and 
take  you  to  the  house  and  introduce  you.  I  will  come 
at  two-thirty." 

"And  may  I  know  where  you  live,  too?" 

"Certainly.  I  shall  want  to  know  how  you  get  on, 
and  be  glad  to  give  you  any  help  that  I  can." 

They  exchanged  addresses  and  then  May  Ca'line 
thanked  her  friend  and  went  away.  She  saw  that 
Mrs.  Chetwyn  had  intended  to  read  and  wished  to  be 
alone. 

That  lady  followed  the  light  little  figure  with  her 
eyes.  No  one  could  talk  with  May  Ca'line  without 
feeling  her  appeal. 

As  she  hurried  along  the  path  her  heart  was  beating 
like  a  trip-hammer.  What  amazing  brazenness  she  had 


144  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

displayed,  and  how  far  greater  brazenness  tomorrow 
would  bring  forth.  She  paused  once,  and  half  turned  to 
go  back  and  tell  the  Certain  one  that  she  had  changed 
her  mind,  and  ask  her  to  find  some  one  else  for  the  posi 
tion.  Then  she  considered  that  doing  that,  after  her 
excited  and  boastful  appeal,  Mrs.  Chetwyn  would  very 
naturally  decide  that  such  a  human  weather-cock  was 
either  too  shallow  to  be  worth  while,  or  else  out  of  her 
mind. 

"I've  put  my  head  into  the  noose,"  thought  May 
Ca'line.  "I  must  go  on  with  it;  but  why  in  the  name  of 
everything  reasonable,  in  this  great  city  full  of  people, 
did  my  chance  have  to  come  in  the  one  home  where  I 
don't  want  to  go!" 

She  met  her  daughter-in-law  when  she  went  into  the 
house  and  was  surprised  by  the  civil  "Good-morning" 
she  received. 

"You  are  very  sensible  to  go  out  in  the  cool  of  the 
day,"  said  Gladys.  "I  am  going  to  take  my  outing  this 
afternoon.  One  of  my  friends  wants  me  to  go  with  her 
to  a  natatorium,  where  she  teaches  swimming.  I  won 
dered  if  you  would  n't  like  to  take  the  children  to  the 
movie.  The  picture  is  going  to  be  a  fairy  tale,  and  per 
haps  you  would  enjoy  it  as  much  as  they  will.  I  know 
you  don't  like  the  exciting  stuff." 

May  Ca'line  assented  and  thanked  her  with  a  heavy 
heart.  She  felt  that  no  fairy  tale  they  could  see  would 
be  more  improbable  than  that  about  the  swimming 
school;  but  she  tried  to  center  her  thoughts  on  the  oppor 
tunity  to  have  the  children  to  herself  for  a  time. 

To  Gladys  now,  May  Ca'line  was  the  sword  of  Damo 
cles  in  human  form.  She  determined  to  speak  her  fair 
and  even  meditated  putting  her  into  the  spare  room.  It 


MRS.  CHETWYN  145 

must  be  her  treatment  of  his  mother  which  had  made 
Joe  so  cold  and  changed  toward  herself  of  late. 

"I  said  so,"  thought  Gladys  bitterly.    "No  roof  is 
big  enough  for  two  families.  We  were  all  right  until  she 


came." 


Her  chief  concern  at  present  being  to  bask  in  Henry 
Bird's  devotion  without  getting  into  trouble,  she  had 
but  lately  noted  the  change  in  her  husband.  She  was 
used  to  his  being  tired,  and  at  times  harassed.  His  alter 
ation  from  affectionate  demonstration  to  politeness  had 
touched  her  but  vaguely.  Yet  at  times  now  she  thought 
upon  it.  She  wanted  Henry,  but  Joe  was  hers  by  right. 
He  had  often  in  past  days  apologized  to  her  for  letting  her 
tie  herself  to  one  who  seemed  so  little  able  to  rise  finan 
cially,  and  she  had  patronized  and  forgiven  him;  but 
now  —  perhaps  it  was  his  mother's  coming  and  her  own 
perception  that  the  newcomer  offered  to  him  a  quality 
more  congenial  than  her  own,  that  made  her  awake  to 
the  great  change  in  her  husband  from  the  boy  she  had 
married. 

Her  very  safety  from  Joe's  suspicions  was  an  irri 
tation  to  her  vanity,  and  the  more  she  dwelt  on  late 
instances  of  her  husband's  indifference,  the  more 
imperative  grew  her  jealous  need  for  reassurance. 

That  night  in  their  room  she  paused  in  her  prepara 
tions  for  bed  and  turned  toward  him.  "Joe,  I've  been 
having  some  strange  thoughts  lately,"  she  said. 

Bracing  himself  mentally  he  replied  lightly,  "We  all 
do  think  occasionally." 

"What  a  queer  answer,"  she  said  irritably.  "Look 
at  me,  Joe." 

He  obeyed.  She  was  not  at  her  best.  Suspicion,  ready 
to  ripen  into  resentment,  was  in  her  gloomy  eyes,  and 


146  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

her  full  lips  looked  hard  and  sullen.  She  was  several 
years  his  senior,  although  her  family  were  the  only  ones 
of  her  present  circle  in  that  secret,  and  at  this  moment 
she  looked  the  elder. 

"You  might  express  some  interest  in  strange  thoughts 
of  mine." 

He  regarded  her  resolutely.   It  was  not  easy  for  him. 

"Tell  me,  by  all  means." 

"I've  been  wondering  lately  how  much  you  care  for 
me."  There  was  no  appeal  in  her  manner,  rather  accu 
sation.  "You're  so  cold  and  indifferent  lately.  I  look 
back  and  just  wonder  if  you  can  be  the  same  boy  I 
married." 

"All  that  sort  of  consideration  leads  nowhere,  does 
it?"  replied  Joe.  Then,  again  endeavoring  to  speak 
lightly:  "You  know  the  old  story  of  catching  the  street 
car.  The  would-be  passenger  makes  all  sorts  of  efforts 
to  make  the  car  stop,  but  after  he  has  caught  it  he 
would  be  considered  a  madman  if  he  continued  his 
gyrations." 

"Don't  try  to  be  funny,  Joe.  I  just  want  you  to 
answer  me  one  question.  If  we  were  both  single  to-day 
would  you  try  to  get  me  to  marry  you?" 

"That  is  a  very  dangerous  question,  Gladys."  Her 
husband  turned  and  faced  her  with  a  sudden  severe 
gravity  which  she  involuntarily  admired.  Gladys  was 
the  sort  of  woman  to  glory  in  a  man  who  would  beat 
her. 

"It's  easy  enough  answered,"  she  retorted. 

"No,  it  is  a  very  difficult  question  —  a  cruel  question 
for  parents  to  be  called  upon  to  answer.  It  should 
never  come  up.  Supposing  I  were  to  ask  you  if  I  am 
your  ideal  man?" 


MRS.  CHETWYN  147 

Gladys  could  not  hold  her  gloomy,  accusing  gaze. 
He  saw  it  and  pursued  —  "If  I  am  the  sort  of  man  you 
admire  most  in  nature  and  achievement,  yes,  even 
financial  achievement?  You  and  I  have  entered  into  a 
solemn  compact  and  there  are  Bob  and  Ella.  The  thing 
for  us  to  do  is  n't  to  question,  but  to  do  the  best  we  can 
every  day." 

Gladys,  with  Henry  Bird's  solicitations  in  her  ears, 
was  silenced,  but  far  from  convinced.  Indeed,  a  hun 
dred  new  questions  followed  upon  the  last.  She  had 
never  seen  this  look  in  Joe's  eyes.  There  was  command 
in  it,  but  no  love.  The  boy  had  changed  to  a  man,  and 
if  he  ever  discovered  her  risky  flirtation  he  might  go  to 
lengths  at  present  undreamed  of,  lengths  which  included 
worse  results  than  a  good,  honest  beating. 

She  wished  for  the  moment  that  there  were  no  Henry 
Bird,  and  that  she  could  feel  as  indignant  with  Joe  as 
he  deserved.  She  tried  to  lie  awake  and  nurse  her  inju 
ries  and  apprehensions;  but  Nature  had  not  endowed 
her  with  that  species  of  nervous  system,  and  she  was 
soon  dreaming  of  a  motor  ride  over  a  rocky  country, 
where  jolts  were  constant. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TREASURE  ISLAND 

THE  small  hours  were  growing  larger  before  May 
Ca'iine  slept  that  night,  and  when  she  awoke  it 
was  under  a  cloud  of  apprehension.  As  her  mind  cleared 
and  she  realized  that  this  was  the  day  on  which  she  had 
deliberately  consented  to  go  to  Adam  Breed's  house, 
she  considered  not  arising  at  all,  and  having  Nora  tell 
Mrs.  Chetwyn  when  she  came  that  she  was  ill.  More 
intrepid  thoughts  prevailed,  and  as  she  dressed  she  con 
soled  herself  by  the  thought  that  she  should  probably 
be  so  stiff  and  unlike  herself  in  that  dreaded  environ 
ment  that  she  would  be  told  politely  by  Mrs.  Chetwyn 
to-morrow  that  her  services  would  not  be  required. 

"So  now,"  said  May  Ca'line  to  herself,  "what  is 
there  to  dread  so?  Adam  is  too  busy  a  man  ever  to 
come  home  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  that 
is  n't  home  anyway  in  the  summer.  If  his  poor  boy 
should  like  me  I  '11  get  some  money,  and  if  he  does  n't 
I  '11  get  out  of  an  awful  box.  He  does  n't  want  to  see  his 
sister,  so  she  isn't  likely  to  come,  and  surely  I'm  not 
scared  of  him,  poor  child,  eyes  bandaged  so  he  can't 
even  see  me.  So  am  I  going  to  act  like  a  perfect  idiot, 
or  am  I  not?" 

It  had  often  been  said  of  her  by  her  friends  that  May 
Ca'line  would  joke  on  her  death-bed;  and  she  could  see 
a  humorous  side  to  the  present  situation.  Though  not 
exactly  in  extremis  now,  she  felt  that  if  Adam  Breed 
should  come  in  and  find  her  with  his  son,  and  recognize 


TREASURE  ISLAND  149 

the  present  travesty  on  her  blooming  girlhood,  she 
should  die  of  it  then  and  there. 

"My  heart  just  bobs  around  like  an  unmanageable 
puppy  that  keeps  jumping  up  on  one.  Down,  sir! 
Down,  you  stupid  little  thing!"  she  muttered  as  she 
stood  before  her  foot  of  mirror,  arranging  her  hair. 
Fortunately  not  much  mirror  was  required  for  this  ope 
ration.  There  is  hair  whose  dressing  is  a  solemn  matter 
of  tongs  and  an  hour's  time.  There  is  another  sort  of 
head  upon  which  one  sweep  of  the  comb  and  three  hair 
pins  will  evolve  a  fetching  coiffure.  Nature  had  bestowed 
this  priceless  boon  upon  May  Ca'line.  She  put  on  the 
serge  skirt  in  which  she  had  made  the  journey  from 
Leacock  and  a  fresh  white  blouse. 

When  she  came  to  the  lunch-table  Gladys  remarked 
her  appearance.  "I'm  not  going  to  spend  the  money, 
though,  to  take  her  to  the  movie  again  to-day,"  she 
thought.  "You  look  as  if  you  were  going  out,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  out  with  a  friend  I  made  in  the 
park." 

"Oh,  a  pick-up,  eh?" 

"Yes,  her  name  is  Chetwyn.  Do  you  know  of  any 
Chetwyns  about  here?" 

"No.   Queer  name." 

"We  have  met  a  few  times.  She  has  been  very  kind 
to  me.  I  am  going  out  with  her  this  afternoon." 

"Going  to  a  show?" 

"No,  we  are  going  to  walk.  I  should  like  so  much  to 
have  her  meet  you  and  the  children  before  we  go.  She 
is  coming  here  to  call  for  me." 

"She'll  have  to  come  before  matinee  time,  then.  I'm 
going  to  let  Mae  Marsh  be  nursemaid  to  the  kids  this 
afternoon." 


150  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

They  had  gone  before  Mrs.  Chetwyn  arrived.  She 
had  called  up  Vivian  Breed  the  night  before. 

"I  think  I  have  found  our  reader,"  she  said.  "She 
overheard  our  talk  in  the  park  and  appeared  to  me  after 
you  left,  like  a  middle-aged  dryad  leaping  out  of  that 
elm  tree.  I  had  met  her  there  in  the  park  and  talked 
with  her  before.  She  is  an  unusual  sort  of  little  woman, 
very  spirited  and  bright.  Her  name  is  Laird.  I'm  tak 
ing  her  to  Ferdy  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  I  'm  thankful  to  you,"  said  Vivian ;  "you  know  that." 

"We'll  try  the  experiment,"  went  on  Mrs.  Chetwyn, 
"and  see  whether  your  brother  turns  his  thumbs  up  or 
down.  I'll  let  you  hear  as  soon  as  I  know,  myself." 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  replied  the  girl  again;  "I 
trust  it  all  to  you." 

Sitting  on  the  porch  and  waiting,  May  Ca'line  con 
tinued  to  lecture  herself.  "Fear  not,  rejoice  always, 
love  everybody,  Gladys  included,"  she  said  over  and 
over  like  a  lesson.  "Be  a  mental  aviator;  stop  flounder 
ing  in  the  lowlands  o'  sorrow." 

While  she  thus  exhorted  herself  a  handsome  limou 
sine  car  stopped  before  the  door.  Mrs.  Chetwyn  left  it 
and  May  Ca'line  started  up  in  surprise.  Somehow  the 
grandeur  of  the  car  and  chauffeur  made  everything 
worse.  She  longed  for  some  little  shell  to  creep  into  and 
be  forgotten. 

"You  did  n't  expect  me  to  arrive  in  such  style,  did 
you?"  Mrs.  Chetwyn  asked,  smiling  as  she  came  up 
the  steps.  "It  is  n't  my  motor;  Miss  Breed  sent  it  for 
us.  It's  ever  so  much  pleasanter  than  transferring  on 
street-cars,  is  n't  it?  She  said  it  was  the  one  they  keep 
in  town  for  her  brother  to  use.  It  has  to  be  closed  on 
account  of  his  eyes." 


TREASURE  ISLAND  151 

"My  daughter-in-law  and  the  children  have  just  gone 
to  the  matinee,"  faltered  May  Ca'line.  "Won't  you 
come  in  for  a  minute  and  see  where  we  live?" 

Her  friend  assented  and  they  entered  the  living-room 
and  sat  down  for  a  few  minutes. 

"They  have  a  nice  back  yard  here  for  the  children. 
Mr.  Breed  has  been  very  kind.  He  spoke  to  Joe  of 
wanting  them  to  have  that." 

The  Certain  one's  eyes  looked  kindly  at  her  evidently 
nervous  little  companion. 

"  If  you  are  the  right  one  to  make  time  pass  pleasantly 
for  his  son,  you  will  reward  him,"  she  said. 

"But"  —  May  Ca'line  looked  startled  —  "but  you 
understand  the  sub  rosa  part  of  all  this,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  assuming  a  comic 
air  of  mystery.  "We  know  that  son  Joseph  and  daugh 
ter  Vivian  are  to  be  kept  in  the  darkest  dark  on  the 
subject  of  this  great  adventure." 

May  Ca'line  knew  she  was  being  laughed  at,  but  her 
knees  were  shaky,  and  when  her  friend  arose  and  sug 
gested  that  they  would  better  be  off,  she  descended  the 
steps  and  entered  the  luxurious  car  braced  as  for  a  visit 
to  a  dentist  who  did  not  administer  gas. 

Twenty  minutes'  drive  brought  them  to  a  street  of 
fine  homes  before  one  of  which  the  car  stopped.  A 
woman,  perhaps  the  caretaker,  answered  Mrs.  Chet- 
wyn's  ring,  and  seemed  to  understand  their  errand.  She 
ushered  them  through  the  wide  hall  into  a  reception- 
room,  sheeted  and  shaded.  The  large,  ghostly  chairs 
and  the  stillness  of  everything  behind  these  massive 
stone  walls  made  May  Ca'line  feel  like  holding  to  Mrs. 
Chetwyn's  pongee  skirt. 

They  waited  but  a  very  short  time  before  the  return 


152  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

of  the  woman,  a  grave  person,  who  looked  as  sheeted 
and  shaded  as  the  room,  and  she  led  them  out  through 
the  hall,  whose  broad  stairway  seemed  to  lead  to  a  bal 
cony  above.  May  Ca'line  cast  a  timid  glance  at  the 
grand  austerity  of  its  bronze  figures,  and  immediately 
the  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall  opened  and  a  powerful- 
looking  man  in  immaculate  white  appeared. 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  greeted  him  as  he  stood  aside  for  them 
to  pass,  and  hastened  forward  to  the  side  of  a  wheeled 
chair.  The  invalid,  with  the  bandaged  eyes  and  dressed 
in  a  loose  wrapper,  turned  his  head  at  their  entrance, 
and  May  Ca'line  noticed  that  his  pale  face  did  not 
change  expression  as  Mrs.  Chetwyn  took  his  limp  hand 
for  a  minute  between  her  own. 

There  was  nothing  sheeted  here,  though  the  room 
was  carefully  shaded.  Bowls  of  roses  stood  about,  and 
the  walls  were  filled  with  books.  The  leather  furniture 
was  luxurious  and  the  great  fireplace  was  banked  with 
growing  hydrangeas. 

"I  have  brought  my  friend,  Mrs.  Laird,  to  see  you, 
Ferdy." 

The  young  fellow  nodded  impersonally.  "How  do 
you  do,  Mrs.  Laird,"  he  said  in  a  colorless  voice.  "  Han- 
sen,  are  you  there  ? " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Breed."  The  man  in  white  took  a  step 
nearer. 

"  Ladies,  this  is  Mr.  Hansen,  who  bores  himself  tak 
ing  care  of  me." 

The  two  ladies  bowed  to  the  nurse,  who  acknow 
ledged  their  greeting,  and  placed  a  couple  of  chairs  for 
them. 

May  Ca'line's  heart  yearned  so  over  the  unsmiling 
boy  that  she  began  to  forget  herself. 


TREASURE  ISLAND  153 

"Your  sister  told  me  that  in  spite  of  the  beauty  of 
Rose  Ledge  you  began  to  feel  that  you  would  be  hap 
pier  here,"  said  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  her  heart  aching  over 
the  stoicism  in  the  face  she  had  once  known  so  well.  It 
was  hard  to  tell  what  to  say  to  one  who  was  in  such  a 
case  and  would  be  so  sure  to  hate  platitudes.  "I  re 
member  that  we  used  to  have  some  very  pleasant  times 
in  this  house  when  you  were  convalescing,"  she  added. 

"  Yes,  you  were  a  good  scout,  Miss  Lansing  —  excuse 
me,  Mrs.  Chetwyn  —  I  always  think  of  you  as  Miss 
Lansing." 

"Mrs.  Laird  here  is  very  fond  of  reading,  and  I'm 
going  to  let  her  try  reading  to  you  this  afternoon.  You 
know  what  Marion  Crawford  said:  that  a  novel  is  a 
little  pocket  theater.  Just  now  you  need  to  have  the 
theater  brought  to  you,  so  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  it. 
Mrs.  Laird  is  a  stranger  in  the  city  and  does  n't  know 
her  way  about  yet,  so  the  car  will  take  her  home.  In  an 
hour  shall  I  say?" 

If  Ferdy's  expression  could  be  said  to  change,  it  now 
indicated  doubt. 

The  nurse  spoke  respectfully.  "I  can  call  the 
chauffeur  when  we  are  ready.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
better  not  to  set  any  time." 

As  May  Ca'line  received  her  friend's  parting  smile 
and  saw  her  disappear,  she  felt  deserted  in  a  sea  of  deep 
and  heaving  waters,  but  there  was  a  buoy;  yes,  even  in 
that  moment  of  panic  it  was  entirely  characteristic  that 
May  Ca'line  could  make  a  mental  pun,  tremor  and  all. 
Hansen  went  to  the  door  with  Mrs.  Chetwyn.  He  was 
so  big  and  white  and  silent,  May  Ca'line  wished  he 
would  get  lost  among  those  huge,  sheeted  chairs  that 
looked  made  for  him. 


154  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"I  never  saw  so  many  books,"  she  said,  and  at  sound 
of  her  voice  Ferdy  turned  his  head. 

"Yes,  father  has  a  fine  library." 

"There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world  that  I  love 
better." 

"What  is  that?" 

"I  don't  think  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Breed.  I  hope  you'll 
guess  it." 

A  sort  of  boyish  sternness  came  over  the  invalid's 
face.  This  musical  voice  had  a  thread  of  tenderness 
sounding  through  the  last  speech.  Moreover,  it  was  dis 
tinctly  girlish. 

"I  thought  it  was  understood  that  I  did  not  wish  to 
employ  a  young  person,"  he  said  coldly. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  did  understand  it,"  said  May  Ca'line 
reassuringly,  "for  I'm  not  young,  and  I  wanted  so 
much  to  come." 

"Why  did  you  wish  it  so  much?" 

"Partly  to  earn  money  and  partly  because  I  love 
reading,  and  partly  for  that  other  reason  that  I  spoke 
of." 

"That  I'm  to  guess?" 

"Only  if  you  wish  to,  you  know,  Mr.  Breed,  but  per 
haps  you  can't  help  it." 

"I  think  you're  young,"  said  Ferdy,  still  more  frig 
idly.  "It  would  be  like  Vivian  to  get  Mrs.  Chetwyn  to 
play  a  trick  on  me,  thinking  to  cheer  me  up,  and  get 
Hansen  to  help  them.  It's  easy  to  cheat  a  fellow  with 
bandaged  eyes.  I  wish  they  could  get  it  through  their 
heads  that  I  still  have  my  mind,  and  know  what  I  want." 

"Mr.  Breed,  listen."  May  Ca'line  spoke  in  distress. 
"Indeed  I'm  not  young.  I'm  a  grandmother.  Is  that 
enough?" 


TREASURE  ISLAND  155 

The  boy  sank  back  against  his  pillow.   "No  lie,  eh?" 

"I  have  two  grandchildren." 

"Very  well.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Has  Hansen  come 
back?" 

"No,  not  yet." 

"He  is  a  Swede  with  some  accent.  It  makes  me  nerv 
ous  to  hear  him  read.  That  is  why  I  sent  for  some 


one." 


"I'm  glad  I  could  come.  It  is  wonderful  to  me  to  see 
this  beautiful  house.  I've  lived  in  a  small  town  always. 
What  a  splendid  room  you  have  to  be  ill  in." 

"Not  much  comfort  in  that." 

"Why,  I  think  there  is,  for  of  course  you  remember 
everything  in  it." 

"See  here,  did  they  tell  you  to  be  cheerful  with  me? 
For  let  me  tell  you  that  makes  me  sick" 

May  Ca'line  was  glad  she  could  smile  unperceived. 
Her  fear  had  fled.  "No,  they  didn't  give  me  any 
instructions,  but  I've  been  a  little  homesick  since  I 
came  to  the  city  and  I  don't  know  just  what  would  have 
happened  to  me  if  I  had  n't  met  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  and 
become  acquainted  with  her  and  been  given  her  rules 
of  life:  Fear  not,  rejoice  always,  love  everybody,  and  be 
a  mental  aviator." 

"Oh,  indeed." 

May  Ca'line  thought  the  invalid  tried  not  to  smile 
at  this.  How  she  wished  he  would! 

"Yes;  so  now  to  be  brought  into  this  beautiful  place, 
so  airy  and  so  full  of  flowers,  I'm  afraid  I  can't  help 
being  cheerful.  Please  don't  mind.  It  will  pass  off.  May 
I  bring  that  bowl  of  roses  for  you  to  smell  of?" 

Without  waiting  for  permission  May  Ca'line  seized 
the  bowl  and  held  the  flowers  under  the  boy's  nose.  It 


156  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

was  so  long  since  he  had  been  able  to  believe  that  prox 
imity  to  himself  and  his  surroundings  was  a  pleasure, 
rather  than  a  duty,  to  anybody,  that  he  suffered  the 
attention  for  a  moment,  which  May  Ca'line  was  too 
clever  to  prolong. 

He  decided  that  this  person  was  honest,  and  her 
voice  was  the  pleasantest  he  remembered.  When  it 
was  chained  down  to  voicing  horse-sense  it  might  do 
very  well. 

The  nurse  here  returned.  His  white  shoes  were  so 
noiseless  that  May  Ca'line  understood  how  his  charge 
could  have  asked  the  recent  question. 

"Had  you  some  special  thing  in  mind  that  you 
wanted  to  hear  read?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,"  Ferdy  sighed  unconsciously,  "anything." 

"I've  just  been  aching  to  look  at  those  books.  May 
I  go  and  pick  out  something?" 

"Certainly.  Make  yourself  at  home.  —  You  are 
young,"  added  Ferdy  mentally,  hearing  the  zest  in  her 
voice.  "Grandmother  or  no  grandmother,  you  are 
young." 

Had  his  eyes  been  unbandaged  he  would  have  been 
more  firmly  convinced  of  this,  for  May  Ca'line,  after 
a  cursory  glance  at  the  lower  shelves,  ran  up  the  ladder 
to  get  a  higher  view.  Hansen's  mouth  fell  open  as  he 
watched  her. 

"Mrs.  Laird,  I  will  gladly  search  for  you,"  he  said, 
scandalized. 

"Oh,  it's  like  picking  peaches  for  one's  self,"  rejoined 
May  Ca'line.  "Do  let  me." 

"Very  well,  madam,"  returned  the  man,  looking  from 
her  to  Ferdy  and  back  again. 

"Would  you  mind  putting  my  hat  somewhere?"  — 


TREASURE  ISLAND  157 

and  Hansen  suddenly  caught  the  headgear  Martha  and 
Hetty  had  worked  on  so  laboriously.  His  eyes  grew 
still  larger. 

After  a  minute  of  searching  May  Ca'line  spoke. 
"Oh,  Mr.  Breed,  do  you  know  ' Treasure  Island'  by 
heart?" 

"If  IVe  ever  read  it  I've  forgotten.  Of  course  one 
hears  the  name  all  the  time." 

"Well,  I  never  have  read  it.  IVe  longed  so  to  read 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  and  here  he  is  —  all  of  him! 
Shall  I  bring  'Treasure  Island'  down?" 

4 '  Down  ?  Whe re  are  you  ? ' ' 

"She's  on  top  of  the  ladder,  sir,"  said  Hansen,  and 
his  tone  did  wring  that  smile  from  the  invalid  for  which 
May  Ca'line  longed. 

"Hansen,"  said  Ferdy,  "how  old  is  our  visitor?" 

"Mr.  Breed,  sir!" 

May  Ca'line  ran  down  the  ladder.  "He  can't  tell 
unless  he  looks  at  my  teeth  and  I'm  not  going  to  let 
him."  She  exhibited  an  even  row  to  Hansen  as  she  said 
it,  for  she  knew  by  Ferdy's  voice  that  her  excursion 
ceilingward  had  amused  him. 

"You  don't  know  how  I  anticipate  reading  this  story. 
Mr.  Carnegie  overlooked  our  village  when  he  was  dis 
tributing  libraries.  Are  you  comfortable,  and  shall  I 
begin?" 

"Hansen,  you  may  go  off  for  half  an  hour.  Tell  Mrs. 
Badger  to  remain  in  hearing  of  my  bell." 

The  nurse  slowly  withdrew,  his  eyes  on  May  Ca'line 
to  the  last.  All  unconscious,  she  opened  her  book  and 
began.  "Stop  me,  won't  you,"  she  interrupted  herself 
to  say,  "if  I  read  too  slow  or  too  fast." 

The  sick  boy  nodded  and  she  threw  a  kiss  toward  his 


158  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

set,  pale  face.  "Darling  child!"  she  thought,  her  heart 
going  out  to  him.  "No  mother,  and  nobody  but  that 
huge  white  man  for  company." 

Then  they  were  off.  May  Ca'line  read  well.  She 
seemed  to  be  telling  the  story  herself;  and  her  zest  in  it 
was  evident  and  infectious.  In  fact  she  stopped  some 
times  to  throw  in  a  spontaneous  comment,  and  her  lis 
tener  nodded  assent. 

The  door  opened.  "That  you,  Hansen?"  asked  the 
invalid  with  a  crispness  which  suggested  impatience. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Breed." 

"What  is  it?" 

"It's  a  half  an  hour,  sir." 

"You've  looked  at  your  watch  wrong." 

"Shall  I  leave  you  for  another  half-hour,  sir?" 

"Of  course.   Go  on,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Laird." 

May  Ca'line  went  on.  Again  it  seemed  but  a  few 
minutes  before  the  door  opened  again. 

"That  you,  Hansen?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Breed." 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  keep  opening  and  closing  that 
door." 

"But  Mrs.  Laird  has  been  reading  an  hour,  sir.  You 
engaged  her  for  that  time,  you  remember." 

"Are  you  tired,  Mrs.  Laird?"  came  the  boy's  quick 
question. 

"Not  in  the  least,  my  d — "  May  Ca'line  stopped  her 
self  in  time. '  He  had  had  a  year  in  college. 

"But,  Mr.  Breed,  it  is  time  for  you  to  eat." 

"Then  Mrs.  Laird  will  have  some  tea." 

"Mrs.  Badger  is  bringing  the  tray,  sir." 

Soon  there  was  a  stand  beside  the  wheeled  chair  and 
upon  it  iced  tea,  hot  tea,  the  daintiest  of  sandwiches, 


TREASURE  ISLAND  159 

small  cakes,  and  a  foaming  glass  of  eggnog,  which  Han- 
sen  put  into  the  invalid's  hand. 

May  Ca'line  enjoyed  the  little  feast  heartily. 

"If  you  praise  those  sandwiches  so  much  I  shall  have 
to  eat  one,"  said  Ferdy,  and  May  Ca'line  held  the  plate 
so  that  it  lightly  touched  his  seeking  hand.  The  nurse, 
standing  at  the  head  of  the  chair,  gave  her  an  approving 
smile. 

"The  doctor  says  Mr.  Breed  may  eat  anything  he 
fancies,"  he  remarked. 

"Reading  does  make  one  hungry,"  said  May  Ca'line. 
"My  boy  always  wanted  to  eat  apples  while  I  read  to 
him." 

"That's  so.  I  haven't  thought  of  apples  for  a  long 
time.  Hansen,  you  might  get  some  apples.  I'm  catch 
ing  your  appetite.  I  think  I'll  take  something  more." 

Again  Hansen  beamed  upon  the  little  auburn-haired 
visitor  who  met  his  wide  smile  with  some  surprise.  He 
winked  and  nodded  and  pointed  to  the  plate  where  the 
invalid  was  taking  another  of  the  delicate  sandwiches. 
"Mr.  Breed  has  n't  been  eating  much,  madam." 

"Neither  have  I,"  she  returned.  "One  doesn't  feel 
hungry  in  the  hot  weather,  but  this  lovely,  cool  place, 
and  Stevenson,  and  such  a  good  time  altogether,  make 
me  ravenous.  Do  keep  me  company  in  one  of  those 
delicious  little  cakes,  Mr.  Breed." 

"I  think  best  not  the  cake,"  said  Hansen,  putting 
out  a  repressive  hand." 

"Rot,"  said  Ferdy.  "Didn't  you  just  say  I  could 
have  anything  I  liked?  It's  low-down  to  offer  Mrs. 
Laird  something  in  my  own  house  that  I  won't  eat  my 
self.  Where's  the  cake?" 

May  Ca'line  nodded  reassuringly  to  Hansen.    u  You 


160  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

know  how  they  force  a  card  on  you  in  card  tricks, ' '  she 
said.    "I'm  going  to  force  a  cake  on  you,  Mr.  Breed." 

She  pushed  a  sponge  drop  toward  his  hand  and  he 
took  it. 

"Is  n't  that  delicate  and  delicious?"  she  asked.  Her 
tone  was  enough  to  make  any  man,  even  a  sick  man, 
hungry. . 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  how  time  must  have  been 
flying.  Perhaps  Adam  chose  the  late  part  of  the  after 
noon  for  his  daily  call.  Cinderella  at  the  stroke  of  twelve 
did  not  feel  greater  panic. 

"I  —  I  am  staying  very  late,"  she  said.  "I  must  go 
home  at  once." 

"You  like  stones  of  adventure,  don't  you?"  said 
Ferdy. 

"Love  them;  and  detective  stories,  and  sentimental 
stories,  and  humorous  stories,  and  historical  stories  — 
everything  but  sad  stories." 

While  she  talked  May  Ca'line  was  hastily  putting  on 
her  hat  and  gloves. 

"Did  you  ever  read  the  ( Prisoner  of  Zenda'?" 
asked  Ferdy. 

"Never." 

"Not  when  you  had  a  boy  to  read  to!" 

"We  were  n't  where  we  could  get  modern  books.  Is 
it  so  good?" 

"Good!  It  has  all  the  rest  pushed  off  the  platform. 
We'll  read  that  next." 

May  Ca'line  smiled  up  at  the  big,  silent  Hansen,  then 
at  the  bandaged  eyes.  "Am  I  to  come  again,  then?"  she 
asked. 

"Why  —  of  course,  —  if  it  doesn't  bore  you  too 
much." 


TREASURE  ISLAND  161 

"Bore  me!  Why,  Mr.  Breed,  I  can't  tell  you  what  a 
good  time  I've  had.  I've  always  wished  that  sometime 
I  could  see  a  big  library  of  books,  all  together;  and  this 
room  fills  me  right  up,  and  the  story  is  so  fine,  I  do 
want  to  go  on  with  it." 

"At  the  same  time  to-morrow,  then,  the  car  will  call 
for  you." 

May  Ca'line  began  to  think  fast.  If  this  errand  were 
to  be  kept  secret,  that  limousine  could  not  appear  every 
day  before  her  son's  house.  "I  would  just  as  lief  come 
on  the  street-car,"  she  said. 

"No  occasion,"  returned  Ferdy.  "I  don't  wish  you 
to."  His  tone  was  that  of  one  whose  decision  is  final. 

"Then  —  then  I'm  going  to  ask  a  very  queer  favor. 
You  know  if  my  two  little  grandchildren  saw  me  going 
away  in  that  car  they  would  want  to  go  too." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  invalid  quickly;  "I  couldn't 
endure  children  at  present." 

May  Ca'line  had  a  vision  of  Bob  and  Ella  shrieking 
around  this  lordly  and  dignified  room. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  said  earnestly.  "I  was  going  to 
ask  if  I  might  be  called  for  at  a  drug-store  near  by,  so 
the  children  would  n't  see  the  car." 

"Certainly,  that  would  be  all  right." 

"Then  I  can  have  the  chauffeur  drop  me  there  when 
I  go  back  to-day  and  show  him  the  place  —  if  I'm  go 
ing  in  the  automobile?"  She  looked  questioningly  at 
Hansen. 

"It  is  waiting,  madam." 

So  May  Ca'line,  casting  an  apprehensive  glance  up 
and  down  the  street  for  a  young,  alert,  energetic  man 
with  black  hair  —  how  fast  Adam  always  walked!  — 
stepped  into  the  car  and  drove  back  in  state.  She 


162  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

directed  the  chauffeur  to  the  drug-store  and  asked  him 
to  call  there  for  her  at  two-thirty  the  next  day. 

As  she  walked  the  two  blocks  home,  her  sense  of 
humor  mingled  with  the  ache  at  her  heart  inseparable 
from  certain  memories.  "I've  gone  into  Gladys's 
class,"  she  thought.  "I,  too,  go  around  the  corner  to 
meet  an  automobile." 

The  instant  Hansen  returned  from  putting  the  visitor 
into  the  car  Ferdy  spoke. 

"Describe  Mrs.  Laird  to  me,"  he  said. 

"Well,  that's  a  hard  one  for  a  stupid  fellow  like  me," 
rejoined  the  nurse. 

"Pshaw!  Tell  me  about  her.  She  does  n't  sound  like 
a  grandmother." 

"Her  sort  marries  young,  sir.  I'd  like  to  have  seen 
her  when  she  was  sixteen." 

"Do  you  mean  that  she's  pretty?" 

"  She  has  been,  sir.   I  like  'em  plumper  myself." 

"Describe  her,  I  say." 

"Well,  she's  quite  small,  and  as  thin  as  a  broomstick, 
with  reddish  hair  that  curls.  It's  more  than  common 
pretty  —  her  hair  is.  Her  eyes  can  almost  talk,  and 
her  smile  is  too  sweet  to  trust,  but  she's  thin  and 
hungry-looking." 

"Do  you  think  that?"  The  question  came  anxiously. 

"You  should  have  seen  her  light  into  the  eatables,  sir." 

"Tell  Mrs.  Badger  to  have  a  more  substantial  tray 
to-morrow.  You  need  n't  tell  her  why.  I  don't  wish  it. 
Tell  her  —  tell  her  I  am  getting  my  appetite  back." 

Mr.  Hansen  regarded  his  charge  with  a  broader 
approving  smile  than  he  would  have  used  had  the  eye 
bandages  been  off. 

"I'll  do  so,  sir,"  he  said  respectfully. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  THE  LIMOUSINE 

THAT  evening,  every  time  the  telephone  rang  at 
Rose  Ledge,  Vivian  flew  to  answer  it  herself.  At 
last  she  was  rewarded. 

"Is  that  you,  Miss  Vivian?" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  yes,"  came  the  eager  answer. 
"You're  laughing.  What  a  good  omen!" 

"Yes,  I've  been  chuckling  ever  since  Hansen,  your 
brother's  nurse,  hung  up.  I  told  him  not  to  fail  to  call 
me  as  soon  as  he  could  after  Mrs.  Laird  left;  told  him 
to  go  where  Ferdy  could  n't  hear  him  and  tell  me  just 
how  they  had  got  on;  and  I  assure  you  my  little  dryad 
made  good.  I  don't  know  whether  I  told  you  she  is  a 
grandmother.  Hansen  seemed  to  think  it  his  duty  to 
tell  me,  in  a  heavy,  measured  tone,  how  she  ran  up  and 
down  the  ladder  in  the  library  and  in  all  ways  comported 
herself  as  unlike  a  grandmother  as  could  be  conceived. 
If  only  I  could  have  been  a  fly  on  the  wall!" 

"But  how  funny!  What  a  queer  woman!"  returned 
Vivian. 

"Oh,  when  you  see  her  you'll  understand  it.  She  is 
very  impulsive  and  childlike,  but  at  any  rate  she  pleased 
Ferdy.  Hansen  said  he  was  quite  short  with  him  for 
coming  in  and  disturbing  the  reading  when  the  hour 
had  passed.  Then  Ferdy  and  she  had  tea  together,  and 
Hansen  said  he  ate  with  more  relish  than  he  had  ever 
seen  him,  and  Ferdy  asked  her  to  come  again  to 
morrow.  They're  reading  'Treasure  Island.'" 


164  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  you're  always 
our  mascot!" 

"Well,  I  assure  you  I  am  as  pleased  as  you  are.  The 
little  woman  is  in  a  peculiar  situation  and  needs  this 
position  as  much  as  Ferdy  needs  her." 

"I  can't  wait  to  tell  father.  You  know  how  grateful 
I  am  to  you,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  dear,  and  so  am  I  grateful.  Good-night,  we'll 
see  what  to-morrow  brings  forth  and  we  know  it  will 
be  all  good. 

"Yes.  Good-bye." 

Vivian  turned  from  the  telephone  with  sparkling 
eyes.  She  hastened  out  on  the  terrace  where  her  father 
was  smoking  with  one  of  his  guests.  "Mr.  Hoyne,  will 
you  excuse  daddy  a  minute?"  She  captured  her  parent 
and  drew  him  aside.  He  held  his  cigar  and  looked  at  her 
curiously. 

"What  is  it,  Vivian?  Have  you  found  a  million?" 

"Better  than  that.   It's  about  Ferdy." 

Mr.  Breed's  expression  became  alert.  "Ferdy?  I've 
never  found  him  as  low-spirited  as  he  was  this  morning. 
I've  been  confounding  the  doctor  all  day  for  letting  us 
maroon  him  in  there." 

Vivian's  hands  were  clasped  around  her  father's  arm. 
"You  know  I  told  you  Mrs.  Chetwyn  was  going  to  help 
us  to  find  a  reader.  She  sent  one  there  to-day  on  trial, 
a  Mrs.  Ladd,  and  Ferdy  likes  her  and  has  asked  her  to 
come  again  to-morrow.  She's  a  grandmother,  but  ac 
cording  to  Hansen  a  very  frisky  one,  and  they  had  a 
beautiful  time  and  Ferdy  had  tea  with  her  and  seemed 
to  enjoy  it,  and  Hansen  said  he  ate  —  oh,  daddy,"  the 
girl  suddenly  bowed  her  head  against  her  father's  sleeve, 
"if  you  knew  how  I  envy  that  woman!  I'm  green-eyed 


IN  THE  LIMOUSINE  165 

when  I  think  of  it.  If  Ferdy  would  only  have  tea  with 
me  and  enjoy  it!  He  treats  me  —  formally,  absolutely 
formally" 

"You  have  one  on  me  at  that.  He  treats  me  as  if  I 
were  a  bore." 

"Mrs.  Chetwyn  is  just  wonderful,  daddy.  Ferdy  was 
so  firm  against  having  a  young  person  come  in,  and 
think  of  her  finding  a  grandmother  who  is  lively  and 
companionable.  Hansen  'phoned  Mrs.  Chetwyn  that 
this  Mrs.  Ladd  ran  up  and  down  the  ladder  in  the  li 
brary  and  she  and  Ferdy  had  tea  together  and  Ferdy 
ate  and  was  —  interested." 

"Well,"  remarked  Mr.  Breed,  "I  should  be  inclined 
to  borrow  from  Gilbert  and  consider  that 

*  That 's  the  sort  of  grandma 
Who  is  usually  spurious.'  " 

"No,  no,"  returned  Vivian  earnestly;  "you  know  our 
dear  Mrs.  Chetwyn  could  n't  be  imposed  upon.  Mrs. 
Ladd  is  some  one  she  knew,  and  that  morning  when  I 
went  to  find  Mrs.  Chetwyn  and  ask  her  help,  Mrs.  Ladd 
was  close  to  us,  hidden  by  bushes,  and  heard  me  say 
we  wanted  a  reader,  and  after  I  left  she  just  swooped 
on  Mrs.  Chetwyn  and  asked  for  the  position.  Is  n't  it 
wonderful  that  a  strange  woman  should  fall  out  of  the 
sky,  almost,  just  when  we  needed  her?" 

"Don't  angels  always  do  that?"  returned  Mr.  Breed, 
beginning  to  smoke  again.  "I  suppose  grandmas  are 
no  exception.  Doubtless  her  wings  are  what  help  her 
up  the  library  ladder." 

"You  would  n't  make  any  fun  of  her  to  Ferdy?"  asked 
Vivian  anxiously. 

"Fun!"  As  her  father  repeated  the  word  a  contraction 
passed  over  the  muscles  of  his  face.  He  removed  his 


166  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

cigar  and  looked  at  it.   His  lips  set  as  if  in  effort  to  bear 
pain. 

Vivian  saw  beneath  his  imperturbability  in  the  pass 
ing  spasm.  She  suddenly  realized  how  gray  his  dark  hair 
had  become  in  these  last  months.  She  pressed  his  arm 
again  and  laid  her  cheek  against  it.  "  If  this  goes  on,"  she 
said,  "perhaps  before  long  Ferdy  will  let  me  come  to  see 
him  again.  Go  back  to  Mr.  Hoyne,  dear.  We're  all 
going  out  in  the  launch.  Will  you  and  he  come?" 

The  next  morning  Adam  Breed  dropped  in  as  usual 
for  the  daily  call  on  his  son.  The  latter  had  just  had 
his  bath  and  was  still  in  bed.  The  father's  heart  never 
learned  a  stoical  endurance  of  the  sight  of  the  helpless 
figure  with  its  set  lips.  There  was  always  that  painful 
contraction  of  intense  compassion  mingled  with  impo 
tent  resentment. 

"Good-morning,  son.   Good-morning,  Hansen." 

"Good-morning,  dad,"  came  the  usual  lifeless  re 
sponse. 

"Every  day  I'm  in  hopes  that  you'll  get  a  back-to- 
the-farm  spirit,"  said  Mr.  Breed,  taking  a  chair  beside 
the  bed.  "We  miss  you  at  Rose  Ledge.  Want  to  go 
back?" 

"No,  dad.    I  like  it  here." 

The  father  noted  the  word.  He  could  not  remember 
when  the  boy  had  last  spoken  of  liking  anything. 

"All  right,  son.   Got  everything  you  want?" 

"Yes,  everything  and  nothing,"  answered  the  boy 
wearily. 

"You  get  out  every  morning?" 

"Yes." 

"Enjoy  your  drive  a  little,  do  you?" 


IN  THE  LIMOUSINE  167 

"As  much  as  any  rag  doll  would,"  was  the  languid 
reply. 

The  contraction  again  passed  over  Adam  Breed's 
forehead. 

Hansen  moving  about  the  room,  going  on  with  his 
work,  spoke. 

"Your  son  slept  better  last  night  than  he  has  been 
doing,  sir." 

"That's  good  news.    Every  little  helps,  eh,  son?" 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  and  the  father  proceeded: 
"I  wanted  to  hear  whether  you  liked  the  reader  Mrs. 
Chetwyn  found  for  you,  or  whether  you  want  us  to  look 
for  some  one  else.  I  can  attend  to  it  to-day." 

"No!"  came  with  such  emphasis  from  the  bed  that 
it  sent  Hansen  into  a  perfect  storm  of  winks,  directed  at 
the  visitor,  with  emphatic  nods,  smiles,  and  gestures 
pointing  toward  the  floor,  intended,  Mr.  Breed  under 
stood,  as  reference  to  his  den  below. 

"  No  what  ? "  he  said.  "  Do  you  mean  you  don't  like  her, 
or  that  you  don't  care  to  have  me  find  some  one  else?" 

"She's  all  right,"  said  Ferdy. 

"Good,"  returned  his  father.  "Then  is  she  coming 
again  to-day?" 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Ferdy.  And  Hansen  lifted  his 
shoulders  and  smiled  broadly,  nodding  again.  Mr. 
Breed  nodded  back. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  she  suits  you.  If  you  get  tired  of  her 
style,  let  me  know.  There's  just  as  good  fish  in  the  sea, 
you  know,  as  any  that  ever  came  out  of  it." 

"She's  all  right,"  repeated  Ferdy. 

"The  first  thing  that  has  been  all  right  in  three 
months,"  reflected  Mr.  Breed,  as  he  went  downstairs 
and  sought  Mrs.  Badger. 


168  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"  I  hear  that  our  young  man  had  a  lady  come  to  read 
to  him  yesterday,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir,  a  person  came,"  returned  the  sheeted  and 
shaded  one,  pursing  her  lips. 

"A  pleasant  person,  I  suppose.  Mr.  Ferdinand  liked 
her.  What  was  she  like?  Large  or  small?  Young  or 
old?" 

"Small,  sir.  Quite  a  plain  person.  I  didn't  notice 
her  age  much." 

"You  served  tea  to  them?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Hansen  said  as  how  Mr.  Ferdinand  took 
an  interest  and  wants  it  more  substantial  to-day." 

Mr.  Breed  nodded  and  smiled,  remembering  the 
nurse's  pantomime.  "Good  work,  Mrs.  Badger.  If  you 
can  cheat  our  boy  into  eating,  that's  what  we  want. 
I'm  very  much  pleased  to  hear  this." 

Mrs.  Badger  sniffed.  "I  do  the  best  I  can,  sir,"  she 
returned  with  a  modest  and  martyred  air. 

"Go  on,  you  old  crape-hanger,"  muttered  Mr.  Breed 
as  he  entered  his  car.  "Who  cares  for  your  dumps  so 
long  as  you're  a  cordon  bleu!" 

That  day  at  lunch  the  twins  informed  their  grand 
mother  with  great  glee  that  the  following  day  was  their 
birthday  and  that  they  were  to  have  a  party  and  Nora 
was  going  to  bake  a  cake  with  candles  on  it. 

May  Ca'line  in  her  street  dress  again  aroused  her 
daughter-in-law's  curiosity.  Her  face  bore  a  new  ex 
pression.  She  somehow  looked  as  if  she  had  intention 
and  was  happy. 

"I  guess  you  had  a  good  time  yesterday  with  your 
pick-up,"  said  Gladys.  "Are  you  going  out  with  her 
again?" 

"No,  just  by  myself  to-day." 


IN  THE  LIMOUSINE  169 

Gladys  was  so  constantly  making  her  own  plans  se 
cretly  that  she  wondered  if  Joe's  mother  had  any 
thoughts  or  movements  that  she  was  not  sharing  with 
the  family.  May  Ca'line  still  stood  to  her  as  a  threat. 
Possibly  she  might  go  to  Joe's  office  or  meet  him  in 
town.  Gladys  argued  that  any  secret  May  Ca'line 
might  keep  from  her  would  be  inimical  to  her  peace. 

To-day  the  mother  had  a  little  blue  ribbon  under  the 
rolling  collar  of  her  blouse.  Her  general  effect  was  that 
she  was  going  somewhere.  She  went  somewhere  yester 
day.  Why,  if  it  was  an  innocent  errand,  should  n't  she 
naturally  tell  where  she  was  going? 

"If  you're  just  out  for  a  walk,  then,"  said  Gladys 
carelessly,  "would  you  mind  taking  the  children?  I 
have  some  sewing  I  ought  to  do  this  afternoon." 

Her  sharp  eyes  saw  May  Ca'line' s  color  rise. 

"Why,  I'm  sorry,  Gladys,  this  Mrs.  Chetwyn  I  was 
with  yesterday  made  an  engagement  for  me  this  after 
noon  to  go  to  see  a  sick  friend,  and  I  could  n't  take  the 
children.  I'm  sorry." 

Gladys  was  silent.  If  this  was  the  truth  it  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  Joe  and  was  therefore  harmless.  The 
twins  began  talking  noisily  of  what  they  would  do  to 
morrow  at  their  party,  and  the  moment  passed. 

It  was  the  following  day  at  noon  that  another  and 
more  vital  moment  arrived.  Gladys  had  expected  her 
mother-in-law  to  come  to  the  lunch-table  in  the  blue- 
sprigged  muslin  in  honor  of  the  party,  but  she  appeared 
again  in  street  dress.  The  children  babbled  away  as 
usual. 

"Don't  talk  so  much,"  said  Gladys.  "Listen  to  your 
grandmother.  She  is  going  to  show  you  and  the  other 
children  some  games  this  afternoon." 


170  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

May  Ca'line  looked  up.  "No,  I  did  n't  plan  to  stay 
at  home,  Gladys." 

The  younger  woman  flushed.  Her  mother-in-law 
could  be  very  useful  she  had  found.  "The  idea  of  your 
going  out  when  the  children  are  going  to  have  a  birth 
day  party!"  she  said. 

"I  would  have  been  glad  to  stay.  You  said  the  other 
night  you  did  n't  care  to  have  me." 

"We  want  you!"  shouted  the  twins.  "You  can  play 
games  and  you  can  tell  stories." 

"I'm  so  sorry  I  can't  stay,"  said  May  Ca'line,  casting 
a  troubled  look  on  the  twins  who  continued  to  roar  their 
disapproval. 

"You  needn't  be  so  touchy,"  said  Gladys.  "Of 
course  we  should  like  to  have  you  stay.  Shut  up, 
children." 

"I'm  truly  sorry  I  can't." 

"Absurd.  Of  course  you  could  stay  if  you  wanted 
to.  Telephone  that  —  Mrs.  —  your  pick-up." 

"My  engagement  isn't  with  her.  Wait,  children, 
wait.  I  have  some  presents  for  you.  I'll  give  them  to 
you  after  lunch.  I  have  a  beetle  that  runs  all  around, 
and  a  doll;  and  to-night  after  you're  in  bed  I'll  tell  you 
a  story." 

She  quieted  their  wrath,  but  not  that  of  Gladys. 
What  secret  was  she  keeping  from  them  while  she  lived 
at  their  expense?  Why  was  she  ironing  a  white  silk 
blouse  in  the  morning  and  coming  to  the  lunch-table 
every  day  with  freshly  arranged  hair  and  dressed  in  her 
best?  Gladys  determined  to  know.  If  she  could  only 
discover  something  that  would  make  Joe  resentful  of 
concealment ! 

She  made  an  errand  to  the  grocery  and  left  the  house 


IN  THE  LIMOUSINE  171 

at  the  same  time  with  her  mother-in-law;  saying  a  care 
less  good-bye  and  starting  in  the  opposite  direction. 
After  half  a  dozen  steps  she  faced  about  and  followed 
May  Ca'line's  light  figure.  She  turned  a  corner  and 
Gladys  hastened  forward.  She  paused  there,  stood  still, 
and  gazed,  for  her  mother-in-law  had  evidently  reached 
her  goal.  A  handsome  limousine  car  was  parked  by 
the  walk.  The  liveried  chauffeur  jumped  out,  held 
open  the  door,  and  to  Gladys's  utter  amazement  May 
Ca'line  stepped  into  it  and  was  driven  away  —  luckily 
for  Gladys  in  the  opposite  direction,  for  she  was  glued 
to  the  spot,  and  staring  with  her  mouth  open. 

It  is  not  likely  that  May  Ca'line  would  have  seen  her 
in  any  case,  for  the  car  was  not  vacant  to-day.  There 
sat  a  very  lovely  girl  ready  to  welcome  her. 

"I  am  Miss  Breed,  Mrs.  Ladd.  I  have  wanted  to 
meet  you  ever  since  Mrs.  Chetwyn  told  me  of  your 
success  with  my  poor  brother." 

The  door  of  the  car  closed  and  they  whirled  away. 
May  Ca'line's  cheeks  flushed  with  excitement  and 
her  sweet  eyes,  looking  out  from  under  the  countri 
fied  hat,  searched  those  of  Adam's  daughter  and  Joe's 
acquaintance  and  found  a  very  frank  and  earnest 
friendliness. 

"It  is  such  a  happy  thing  for  me,"  she  replied. 

"Anything  that  makes  Ferdy  more  cheerful,  even 
for  an  hour,  is  such  a  blessing  to  father  and  me." 

"Yes;  the  car  took  me  to  Mrs.  Chetwyn's  when  I 
came  back  yesterday  and  she  talked  so  beautifully 
about  that,  explaining  how  if  a  thing  really  blessed  one 
person  it  blessed  everybody.  Is  n't  Mrs.  Chetwyn 
wonderful?" 

"Indeed  she  is.    I  call  her  our  mascot." 


172  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"  If  she  could  see  your  brother  she  would  do  so  much 
more  for  his  happiness  than  I  can.  He  likes  her,  to 
begin  with,  and  I  should  think  you  could  scarcely  wait 
to  have  him  under  her  influence." 

"My  father  is  afraid  of  her." 

"What  can  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  if  you  have  talked  intimately  with  her,  you 
must  know  that  the  first  thing  she  would  do  with 
Ferdy  would  be  to  send  his  doctor  away." 

"But  I  heard  you  say  —  that  blessed  day  in  the 
park"  —  May  Ca'line  gave  Vivian  one  of  those  smiles 
that  made  her  face  vivid  —  "  that  your  doctor  was  abso 
lutely  nonplussed,  anyway."  , 

Vivian  shook  her  head.  "Yes,  I  know,  but  this  is 
daddy's  only  son.  Daddy  wants  the  best  and  most 
expert  and  scientific  thought  on  his  case  every  minute. 
A  woman's  spiritual  convictions  he  would  put  aside 
no  matter  how  much  he  admired  the  woman,  and  we 
all  love  Mrs.  Chetwyn.  The  doctor  is  always  telling  us 
to  humor  Ferdy  — " 

"There!"  said  May  Ca'line  quickly;  "you  see  just 
from  that  what  strength  the  doctor  gives  to  the  power 
of  your  brother's  thought." 

"Oh,  certainly.  All  doctors  know  that  the  patient 
must  be  kept  cheerful  if  possible.  You  seem  to  be  the 
entering  wedge  to  better  things.  I  have  been  frightfully 
afraid  of  Ferdy's  despondence,  and  Hansen  'phoned  me 
last  night  that  my  brother  was  quite  bright  with  you 
yesterday." 

May  Ca'line  smiled  deprecatingly  and  her  pensive 
eyes  twinkled  up  at  her  companion.  "I'm  a  silly  sort 
of  person,  Miss  Breed.  I  see  the  funny  side  of  things  and 
I  can't  seem  to  help  making  people  laugh." 


THE  LIMOUSINE  173 

"Make  Ferdy  laugh,  Mrs.  Ladd,"  said  Vivian  fer 
vently,  " and  I'll  get  the  President  to  decorate  you.  Will 
it  be  all  right  if  I  send  you  a  check  every  week?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,  Miss  Breed.  If  I  can  really  help 
your  brother  you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  be  so  joyful 
and  so  grateful  that  it  would  be  painting  the  lily  to 
decorate  me." 

The  car  stopped  before  the  house. 

"Aren't  you  coming  in?"  asked  May  Ca'line,  for 
when  she  had  descended  Vivian  sat  still. 

"No."  That  troublesome  swelling  again  filled  the 
girl's  throat.  She  could  n't  tell  this  happy,  enviable 
little  creature  that  Ferdy  had  requested  her  absence. 
"I  have  guests  at  home  and  must  go  back." 

"Your  brother  is  very  indulgent  to  me,"  said  May 
Ca'line.  "We  have  tea  after  the  reading.  I  wish  you 
were  going  to  have  it  with  us  to-day." 

"I'd  like  to  — Mrs.  Ladd"  — the  girl  beckoned 
May  Ca'line  nearer.  "Don't  you  think  we  shall  be 
friends?"  she  said  earnestly.  "Do  you  —  do  you  like 
me?" 

"It  would  n't  be  polite  to  tell  you  how  much,  Miss 
Breed." 

"Then  speak  to  Ferdy  about  me,  will  you?  It's  natu 
ral  for  him  to  feel  a  little  bitter  about  the  difference  in 
our  lives.  He  was  always  the  most  generous  boy  in  the 
world,  but  his  state  is  so  unnatural  now.  He  exagger 
ates  and  broods  and  —  oh,  I  want  to  see  him  so  much. 
Good-bye,"  Vivian  finished  abruptly  and  turned  her 
head  away. 

May  Ca'line  went  up  the  broad,  shallow  steps  to  the 
entrance  hall.  Her  quick  sympathies  had  grasped  the 
situation. 


174  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"If  a  blessing  blesses  everybody,  then  a  curse  curses 
everybody,"  she  thought;  "only  the  blessing  is  real  and 
the  curse  is  a  sham,"  she  added,  recalling  Mrs.  Chetwyn's 
voice.  "Here  goes  for  another  try  to  melt  away  the 


curse." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER 

FERDY  was  evidently  waiting,  with  face  turned 
toward  the  door,  and  he  greeted  his  reader  with  a 
faint  smile. 

"I've  just  had  such  a  pleasure,"  said  May  Ca'line, 
giving  her  hat  to  the  waiting  Hansen.  "Your  beautiful 
sister  came  to  call  for  me  and  we  drove  over  together." 

Ferdy's  head  turned  back  and  his  smile  faded. 

"  She  wanted  to  see  what  sort  of  a  creature  was  com 
ing  to  visit  you  every  day,  and  when  she  found  a  little 
person  from  the  country  it  did  n't  scare  her  at  all.  She 
was  just  as  lovely  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  dressed  fit  for 
that  shiny,  cushiony  car  of  yours." 

"Are  n't  you?" 

"No,  indeed.  That's  one  good  thing  about  that 
horrid  bandage,"  said  May  Ca'line,  taking  the  chair 
Hansen  had  ready  for  her.  "You  can't  see  my  old, 
made-over  dress.  By  the  time  you're  looking  about 
again,  perhaps  I  shall  have  something  else.  I  love 
pretty  clothes  and  I've  seen  so  many  since  I  came  to 
town.  I  feel  like  one  of  those  dingy  little  sparrows  that 
take  dust-baths  in  the  road  and  I  felt  so  more  than  ever 
to-day  with  your  sister.  She  looked  like  a  tea-rose 
dressed  in  a  silvery  cobweb.  She  is  so  sweet  and  kind 
and  adores  you  so." 

Hansen  cast  a  benevolent  smile  upon  the  visitor  and, 
as  if  previously  instructed,  left  the  room,  closing  the 
door  behind  him. 


176  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Do  you  suppose  you  could  get  her  to  come  and  have 
tea  with  us  some  afternoon?"  added  May  Ca'line. 

"Oh,  let  her  alone  with  her  society  friends.  She's 
busier  than  a  puppy  chasing  autumn  leaves,"  responded 
Ferdy  impatiently. 

"She  wants  to  be  with  you,  Mr.  Breed." 

"Cut  that  'Mister,'  will  you,  Mrs.  Laird?  I've  got 
the  darnedest  name  that  was  ever  wished  on  anybody. 
*  Ferdy'  sounds  as  if  I  ought  to  have  a  bib  and  high 
chair,  and  '  Ferdinand'  would  fit  the  king  of  the  Can 
nibal  Islands." 

"Well,  have  n't  you  another  name?" 

"Certainly  I  have.  '  Adam  Ferdinand'  is  the  whole 
curse.  You  might  choose  between  'Addie '  and  '  Dam.' ' 

"'What's  in  a  name?'"  replied  May  Ca'line,  laugh 
ing.  "Don't  you  be  cross  to  me.  I've  just  escaped  the 
wrath  of  two  small  furies  at  home.  What  do  you  think 
of  my  coming  off  and  leaving  two  innocent  little  grand 
children  who  are  having  a  birthday  party  this  after 
noon?" 

"I  think  there  would  have  been  one  large  fury  if  you 
had  n't." 

"It's  very  nice  of  you  to  want  me,  but  you  don't 
know  what  may  happen  to  me  to-morrow.  The  last  time 
I  incurred  their  displeasure  they  chased  me  up  a  tree." 

"When  was  that?" 

"Oh,  just  lately.  We  had  a  slight  difference  of  opinion 
and  I  turned  it  into  a  game." 

The  sick  boy  turned  his  bandaged  eyes  toward  his 
companion  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  twitched. 
"You?  Up  a  tree?  Well,  I  still  think,  then,  that  you're 
putting  one  over  on  me." 

"Not  at  all.    Can't  you  see  the  picture?    Two  five- 


TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER  177 

year-old  infants  pursuing  their  venerable  grandmother 
with  fire  in  their  eyes  and  their  hands  full  of  mud. 
She,  her  locks  streaming,  racing  around  the  back  yard, 
and  at  last  with  desperate  strength  pulling  herself  up 
into  the  family  tree." 

"You  expect  me  to  believe  that?"  Ferdy  smiled. 

"It's  gospel  truth.  I  forgot  all  Mrs.  Chetwyn's  rules 
of  life,  except  one  and  that  was  to  be  an  aviator.  Those 
lowlands  were  likely  to  be  terribly  sorrowful  for  me,  and 
then  what  do  you  think  those  imps  did?  Tried  to  dis 
lodge  their  reverend  ancestor  with  the  hose." 

It  was  then  that  May  Ca'line  won  her  decoration, 
for  Ferdy  laughed  with  boyish  spontaneity. 

"Well,  your  sympathy  is  all  that  keeps  me  up,"  she 
said,  and  he  laughed  harder. 

Hansen  opened  the  door  and  peeped  in  anxiously. 
"Do  —  you  want  me?"  he  asked. 

"Not  a  bit,  Hansen,"  said  May  Ca'line  cheerfully. 

The  nurse  threw  up  both  his  hands  and  lifting  his 
gaze  heavenward  vanished,  leaving  the  door  open. 

"I'll  tell  you!"  said  May  Ca'line;  "why  don't  I  call 
you  Andy?" 

"Another  y,"  said  the  boy.  "You  might  as  well  yield 
to  the  inevitable.  I  suppose  I  '11  be  Ferdy  till  I  'm  white- 
haired,  if  I  ever  am."  The  weary  closing  tone  was  his 
usual  one. 

"Of  course  you  will  be.  You  need  n't  hope  to  escape." 

"Well,  you  need  n't  think  I'll  endure  fifty  years  laid 
out  like  this,"  declared  the  boy  with  a  sort  of  fierce 
deliberation. 

"I  should  say  not,"  rejoined  his  companion  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone.  "Of  course  the  doctor  has  told  you 
that  your  trouble  is  nervous  and  not  organic." 


178  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"What  do  I  care  for  that?  As  you  said  a  minute  ago, 
4  What 'sin  a  name?'" 

"Not  much,  I  know,  but  there's  a  lot  in  a  condition 
and  I  feel  very  hopeful  about  you." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  boy  with  a  scornful  inflection. 
"It's  very  good  of  you.  Please  remember  what  I  said 
about  the  cheering-up  business." 

"Oh,  nonsense.  Don't  talk  that  way  to  a  grand 
mother.  Let's  face  the  thing  and  make  up  our  minds 
to  down  it." 

"You're  a  good  sport,"  said  Ferdy  quietly.  "Per 
haps  if  I  'd  been  as  good  a  one  I  should  n't  be  here." 

"Tell  me  about  it.    Would  you  mind?" 

The  boy  spoke  without  hesitation.  If  May  Ca'line 
had  known  it,  that  was  the  most  flattering  thing  that 
had  ever  happened  to  her;  for  the  subject  had  been 
taboo. 

"When  I  entered  college  I  was  crazy  about  athletics. 
I  did  a  lot  of  physical  work,  and  knowing  that  permis 
sion  for  activity  in  those  lines  depended  partly  on 
scholarship,  I  overstudied,  I  suppose.  I  overdid  every 
thing  as  it  seems,  and  last  April  I  collapsed  like  a  con 
temptible  sissy." 

As  the  boy  talked  his  pale  countenance  gave  more  and 
more  evidence  of  overpowering  excitement  and  his  last 
words  were  nearly  overwhelmed  by  a  convulsive  sob 
that  strained  his  whole  body.  Two  tears  stole  down 
from  under  the  bandage. 

May  Ca'line  could  n't  bear  it.  She  started  up  and 
leaning  over  him,  gently  pressed  his  head  against  her 
bosom  and  bowed  hers  above  it.  He  did  not  resist  the 
embrace,  but  rested  his  cheek  against  her  while  he 
fought  for  self-control. 


TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER  179 

A  movement  made  her  look  up.  A  tall  man  stood  in 
the  open  doorway.  His  first  view  of  her  bowed  head 
had  shown  him  only  that  knot  of  curls,  never  forgotten, 
so  when  she  looked  up,  the  pensive  eyes,  misty  now, 
were  recognized,  at  once. 

Involuntarily  she  raised  her  hand  in  a  gesture  of  dis 
missal,  and  obediently  the  man  stepped  back  quietly 
and  vanished.  It  came  over  her  slowly  who  he  might 
have  been,  and  the  arms  around  the  boy  quivered. 
Absorbed  in  his  nervous  spasm  of  weeping,  he  had  heard 
nothing. 

At  last  he  was  quiet  and  she  withdrew  from  him  and 
resumed  her  chair.  Even  if  that  stranger  proved  to  be 
Adam  Breed  she  had  a  higher  responsibility  now  than  to 
think  of  his  opinion.  From  all  she  had  heard  she  felt 
that  Ferdy's  confiding  in  her  was  a  phenomenon.  She 
determined  to  be  worthy  of  it. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,"  she  said  simply.  "Now, 
the  next  thing  is  to  meet  the  trouble.  I  heard  your 
sister  quote  the  doctor  as  saying  that  nervousness  is  a 
woman  —  capricious.  Caprice  sometimes  jumps  the 
right  way,  and  even  if  you  laugh  at  me  for  having  an 
opinion  I  am  sure  that  you  are  not  going  to  remain 
in  this  condition.  You're  a  big  fellow.  You  probably 
grew  beyond  your  strength  to  begin  with.  Now,  what 
should  you  think  of  our  spending  part  of  the  time  in 
reading  things  that  would  be  a  help  to  you  in  college?" 

"As  if  I  should  ever  go  back!"  said  Ferdy;  and  words 
and  voice  betrayed  the  depths  of  his  young  despair. 

"Most  certainly  you're  going  back!  And  even  if  you 
don't  believe  it  now,  what's  the  harm  of  acting  as  if 
you  were  and  reading  what  would  be  of  some  use  when 
you  do,  if  you  do?" 


180  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"No  harm,"  replied  Ferdy,  and  May  Ca'line  could  see 
that  the  idea  was  not  disagreeable. 

"Let  me  begin  on  it,"  she  said;  "then  when  you  are 
stronger  a  tutor  will  come  in;  and  you  are  so  young  — " 

"Young!  I'm  nineteen  and  have  n't  advanced  beyond 
being  a  cry-baby." 

Adam  Breed  had  vanished  from  sight,  but  not  from 
sound.  He  overheard  this  interview  and  only  stole  away 
when  his  son's  reader  began  to  relate  the  continuance 
of  their  absorbing  story. 

His  daughter  had  driven  to  his  office  when  she  left 
May  Ca'line,  and  closeted  with  her  father  in  his  sanctum 
had  talked  so  hopefully  of  the  situation  that  she  roused 
his  interest  and  curiosity. 

"And  if  I  could  only  think,"  said  the  girl  in  finish 
ing,  "who  this  Mrs.  Ladd  is  like,  it  would  relieve  me. 
Coming  over  in  the  motor  it  seems  to  me  I  have  con 
sidered  every  woman  of  my  acquaintance,  and  I  can't 
locate  the  resemblance.  I  want  you  to  see  her.  She  is 
such  a  dear  little  thing." 

"You  and  Ferdy  appear  to  be  agreed.  I  must  go  over 
there  and  see  if  it's  a  taste  that  runs  all  through  the 
family,"  was  the  reply. 

As  Vivian  went  out  she  paused  in  the  anteroom  to 
speak  to  her  father's  secretary.  He  thought  he  had 
never  seen  her  look  so  attractive.  The  new  hopeful 
ness  had  brightened  her  eyes  and  flushed  her  cheeks. 
Joe  Laird  rose  as  she  spoke  to  him  and  he  smiled 
frank  admiration  at  the  challenge  of  her  radiant  re 
gard. 

"I've  just  been  telling  father  of  our  good  fortune  in 
finding  a  reader  for  my  brother  who  suits  him.  It  has 
been  so  hard  to  raise  his  spirits  and  he  really  likes  this 


TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER  181 

little  woman.  Fancy  Ferdy  enjoying  a  social  tea  with 
anybody!  It  seems  like  a  good  world  to-day." 

"Sincere  congratulations,"  said  Joe.  Then  he  added: 
"You  did  n't  encourage  me  to  visit  him,  but  I've  only 
been  waiting  for  the  permission.  You  know  I  'm  more 
than  ready." 

Vivian  nodded.  "This  may  be  the  beginning  of 
better  things.  Who  knows  but  you  and  daddy  and  I 
will  be  going  over  some  afternoon  to  have  tea  with 
them!" 

She  smiled  joyously  and  he  returned  her  glad  look 
more  self-forgetfully  than  he  had  ever  done.  It  went 
without  saying  that  she  was  his  ideal.  She  must  be  the 
ideal  of  every  man  who  saw  her,  and  the  truth  shone 
now  in  his  face.  When  she  left  him,  her  color  had  deep 
ened  from  the  tea-rose  tint  to  that  of  the  flower  named 
in  honor  of  girls  of  her  sort. 

She  had  gone  down  in  the  elevator  and  reached  her 
motor  before  some  cog  in  her  memory  slipped  into  place. 
"Why,  it  is  he!"  she  thought  with  amusement.  "It  is 
he  that  she  reminds  me  of.  How  funny!  I  must  tell 
him  some  day." 

Adam  Breed  found  it  difficult  to  fix  his  mind  on  busi 
ness  after  his  daughter's  talk.  Could  hope  for  Ferdy 
possibly  come  through  this  stranger?  If  so  she  was  a 
most  important  person  to  him.  He  must  see  and  talk 
with  her,  and  get  her  ideas,  if  she  had  any,  on  this 
heavy  problem.  He  ordered  his  car  and  closed  his 
desk. 

Had  May  Ca'line  been  facing  him  just  now  as  he 
stood  in  that  open  doorway,  he  might  not  have  recog 
nized  her  more  quickly  than  she  did  him;  but  those 


182  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

curls,  that  had  twined  themselves  so  closely  around  his 
youthful  heartstrings  that  he  had  never  been  entirely 
free,  had  changed  but  very  little,  and  the  sweet  expres 
sion  of  May  Ca'line's  face  when  just  now  she  had  raised 
it  from  his  son's  head,  had  made  her  radiant  with  a 
loftier  beauty  than  that  which  he  had  wooed. 

When  he  withdrew  he  plied  Hansen  with  questions 
eliciting  the  news  that  Ferdy  had  been  laughing  a  few 
minutes  before. 

"  Weeping,"  thought  Adam  Breed.  "Hysteria.  Bad!" 

"Her  name,  Hansen,  I  believe  is  Laird?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"H'm."  Mr.  Breed  began  walking  up  and  down  the 
room.  Of  course  it  was  very  easy  for  Vivian  to  have 
misunderstood  the  name  over  the  telephone. 

"And  your  son  looks  for  her,  sir,  every  minute  from 
the  time  he  comes  in  from  his  drive  until  she  gets  here. 
I  dare  say  he  asks  me  to  look  at  the  clock  a  hundred 
times  between  twelve  and  two." 

"Well,  well,  well,"  returned  Adam  Breed,  continu 
ing  his  restless  march,  "we  seem  to  have  found  the  right 
person." 

"I  should  say  so,  sir.  It  startled  me  a  few  minutes 
ago  when  I  heard  him  laugh.  He  forbids  me  to  inter 
rupt  them,  but  I  feared  she  might  be  having  some  trou 
ble  with  him.  I  never  heard  him  laugh,  you  know,  sir." 

"I  wonder — perhaps  excitement  is  n't  good  for  him." 

"  She  is,  sir.  Don't  you  be  afraid,  Mr.  Breed.  My  pa 
tient  has  slept  well  for  the  first  time,  since  she  came." 

"Sleep  means  a  lot  —  eh,  Hansen?" 

"Just  about  everything  in  his  case,  sir.  She  gets 
him  to  eat  too.  Their  tray  will  go  in  in  a  few  minutes. 
Will  you,  perhaps,  have  tea  with  them,  sir?" 


TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER  183 

"Not  to-day.   You're  telling  me  fine  news,  Hansen." 

"Yes,  sir,  and  I  must  tell  you  another  hopeful  sign. 
Mrs.  Laird  is  one  of  those  thin,  hungry-looking  sort  of 
folks.  She  has  that  look  that  comes  when  for  a  long  time 
one  has  n't  been  sufficiently  nourished,  and  I  happened 
to  say  as  much  to  your  son  and  he  took  fire  at  once.  The 
thing  that  entertains  him  most  mornings  is  to  think 
up  dishes  to  put  on  the  tray  to  tempt  her.  She  don't 
need  any  tempting  either,  believe  me.  If  she  comes 
here  long  she  is  going  to  have  a  very  different  look,  sir, 
a  very  different  look." 

Adam  Breed's  face  flushed  as  the  tale  went  on.  Han- 
sen's  theory  afflicted  him.  His  secretary's  evident 
misery  when  he  returned  from  Leacock  he  had  not 
forgotten.  Could  it  have  had  anything  to  do  with  a 
discovery  of  his  mother's  privations? 

"What  you  tell  me  is  very  interesting,"  he  returned 
now,  clearing  his  throat.  "We  cannot  do  too  much  for 
Mrs.  Laird  if  she  is  able  to  accomplish  anything  for  the 
boy  —  anything  even  in  the  line  of  his  entertainment." 

"I  understand,  sir,  and  let  me  tell  you  I'd  hate  to 
go  back  to  things  as  they  were  a  week  ago.  You  know 
the  poet  talks  of  a  mind  diseased.  Nothing  a  doctor 
could  prescribe  could  cure  that  despondency.  Those 
long  silences,  sir,  —  I  did  n't  like  them." 

Mr.  Breed  nodded  gravely.  He  wondered  if  Hansen 
had  heard  any  of  the  repressed  sobbing  upon  which  he 
himself  had  intruded.  How  firmly  he  had  been  dismissed 
by  that  little  hand.  He  felt  that  he  should  never  for 
get  that  lifted  Madonna  face,  and  the  protecting  arms 
enfolding  his  idolized  boy. 

"Does  my  son  ever  break  down  —  ever  weep?"  he 
asked. 


184  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Oh,  never,  sir.    He's  more  on  the  Stoic  order,  sir." 

"It  was  another  good  sign,  perhaps,  then,"  mused 
Adam  Breed.  "What  hour  does  Mrs.  Laird  leave?" 

"She's  supposed  to  leave  at  four  o'clock,  but  she 
does  n't  get  off  much  before  five.  I  have  the  car  ordered 
around  at  four-thirty." 

Mr.  Breed  nodded.    "I  won't  disturb  them  to-day." 

He  left  the  house  and  his  eyes  had  something  of  that 
new  life  which  had  glowed  in  Vivian's.  The  pain  which 
had  gripped  his  heart  at  the  grievous  sounds  from  his 
helpless  son  still  gnawed,  but  he  reflected  that  it  was 
perhaps  the  breaking-up  of  the  ice  and  a  harbinger  of 
spring. 

May  Ca'line  had  found  that  she  could  lure  Ferdy 
into  eating  in  the  ratio  of  her  own  zest.  She  little  knew 
that  the  dainty  banquet  was  for  her  own  good  and  that 
Ferdy  was  doing  the  luring. 

She  had  read  them  both  into  a  brighter  mood  when 
the  tray  came  in. 

The  appearing  of  that  tall  man  in  the  doorway  had 
haunted  her  sub-conscious  thought  ever  since  he  van 
ished.  She  despised  herself  for  being  glad  that  the  room 
was  shaded.  If  that  was  Adam  he  had  obtained  only 
a  glimpse  of  her  faded  self,  and  the  lightning  never 
strikes  twice  in  the  same  place.  He  would  not  disturb 
them  again,  finding  that  that  was  the  reading  hour. 
His  daughter  would  tell  him  that,  weeping  or  not,  his 
son  was  safe  with  her.  She  had  noticed  that  Vivian 
misunderstood  her  name  and  had  rejoiced  in  it. 

Ferdy  had  not  seemed  to  regret  his  own  display  of 
emotion  and  had  promised  to  consider  what  they  should 
undertake  in  the  way  of  heavier  reading;  so  she  left  the 
house  well  satisfied. 


TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER  185 

This  time,  however,  even  more  than  before  she  glanced 
up  and  down  the  street  in  apprehension.  She  was  star 
tled  by  the  appearance  of  a  man  now  leaving  the  waiting 
car.  He  stood  with  his  hat  off",  holding  the  door  open, 
regarding  her. 

"How  do  you  do,  May?"  he  said,  as  she  approached, 
and  he  held  out  his  hand. 

She  had  been  in  the  habit  of  hastily  recalling  the 
rules  of  life  at  each  stressful  moment  since  Mrs.  Chet- 
wyn  gave  them  to  her.  Now  swiftly  she  ran  through 
them  mentally. 

"Is  it  really  you?"  she  said. 

He  motioned  her  to  enter  the  car,  and  to  her  con 
sternation  followed  her,  and  shut  the  door.  The  motor 
moved  smoothly  away. 

'f  You  're  very  unflattering,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  you 
at  once." 

"You  had  heard  I  was  there."  . 

"No,  I  was  surprised." 

May  Ca'line  cast  fleeting,  scared  glances  at  the  per 
fectly  groomed  figure,  the  short  dark  hair,  with  its  white 
threads,  and  the  gray  mustache.  Her  heart  beat  very 
fast. 

"I  need  to  give  you  an  explanation,  Mr.  Breed." 

"I  don't  think  so;  but  you  do  need  to  stop  calling 
me 'Mr.  Breed.'" 

May  Ca'line  felt  a  wee  bit  less  uncomfortable.  Surely 
the  great  man  was  very  gracious. 

"The  men  of  your  family  seem  to  object  to  'Mister,' " 
she  returned.  "Ferdy  stopped  my  using  it  to-day.  I 
do,  though,  feel  like  giving  you  an  explanation  of  why 
you  find  me  installed  in  your  house  without  consulting 
an  old  friend  like  yourself.  I  asked  for  the  position  and 


186  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

obtained  it  before  I  knew  it  was  in  your  house,  and  I 
was  trying  to  conceal  it  from  Joe,  not  from  you,  think 
ing  it  might  hurt  him  to  have  his  mother  earning  money 
—  you  understand?  So  when  I  found  that  it  was  your 
son  who  needed  me  I  concealed  it  from  you,  too,  because 
Joe  was  in  your  employ.  Do  you  pardon  what  seems 
rather  silly?" 

"If  I  ever  had  anything  to  pardon  you,  it  was  done 
to-day  when  I  saw  my  boy's  head  against  your  breast. 
What  do  you  think  of  his  case,  May?"  Adam  Breed's 
grave  eyes  met  her  regard  and  held  it. 

"I  think  he  is  going  to  get  well." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it's  ridiculous  for  him  not  to.  He  has 
mortified  and  lashed  and  hated  himself  into  nervous 
prostration  that  has  taken  this  form.  You  know  that 
wonderful  Mrs.  Chetwyn?" 

"Yes." 

"She  gave  me  three  rules  of  life  and  I  persuaded 
Ferdy  to  say  them  before  I  left  to-day  —  Rejoice  al 
ways,  Fear  not,  and  Love  one  another." 

"Ferdy  said  that,  eh?" 

"Yes,  he  did;  a  little  scornfully,  I  admit,  but  he 
said  it." 

"You're  a  magician." 

"Oh,  no,  just  a  mother;  and  boys  are  my  specialty." 

Adam  Breed  kept  his  eyes  on  the  vivacious  face. 
"Joe  is  a  good  sample,"  he  said. 

May  Ca'line  smiled  up  at  him  gratefully.  "Thank 
you/'  she  returned. 

"I  should  like  to  give  you  something  to  thank  me 
for,"  he  declared,  "for  you  are  doing  for  me  the  most 
important  thing  in  life." 


TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER  187 

"And  such  a  happy  thing  for  me,"  she  said  sponta 
neously.  "I  don't  —  there  really  didn't  seem  much 
occupation  for  me  in  Joe's  little  home  — "  She  paused, 
fearing  to  say  too  much. 

"I  understand,  May,  as  well  as  if  you  talked  for  half 
an  hour.  A  dove  is  n't  at  home  in  a  magpie's  nest." 

She  cast  pleading  eyes  up  at  him.  "But  it's  Joe's 
nest,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  poor  lad,"  he  answered.  "It's  all  right,  May. 
You  are  doing  a  great  work.  I  'm  skeptical,  though.  It 
seems  wicked  to  throw  any  cold  water,  but  it  is  too 
good  to  last.  Don't  be  disappointed  if  Ferdy  wearies 
of  it  all  and  decides  against  your  coming  any  more." 

May  Ca'line  flashed  a  merry  smile  at  him.  "Don't 
worry  about  that,"  she  answered  impulsively;  "I  can 
still  charm  nineteen." 

Then  how  she  flushed,  and  that  night  before  her 
mirror  what  names  were  hurled  at  her  disgusted  eyes. 

But  Adam  Breed  accepted  the  statement  with  grave 
gratitude.  "May  nothing  break  that  spell,"  he  said 
devoutly.  "You  wish  nothing  said  to  Joe,  then,  about 
your  errand  of  mercy?" 

"Since  it  can  be  called  that,"  said  May  Ca'line, 
"of  course  he  cannot  object,  and  I  shall  tell  him.  His 
family  cannot  do  too  much  for  yours,  Adam.  I  glow 
with  gratitude  whenever  I  remember  how  you  lifted 
him  from  the  slough  of  despond." 

Her  companion  smiled  down  at  the  little  woman  in  the 
very  white  blouse  and  the  very  obviously  home-made 
hat  and  skirt, 

"That  was  fortunate,"  he  replied;  "Joe  chose  his 
inheritance  well." 

"Yes,  he  had  a  good  father,"  declared  May  Ca'line, 


188  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

but  her  demure  mendacity  could  not  be  described  as 
unblushing. 

"Why  are  we  stopping  at  this  drug-store?"  inquired 
Adam  Breed  as  the  car  came  to  a  standstill. 

"This  is  where  I  get  out.  This  is  where  Cinderella 
takes  her  grand  coach  and  leaves  it." 

The  twinkle  in  her  eye  was  as  bright  as  of  old,  her 
companion  thought. 

"Oho!  The  whole  thing  is  a  clandestine  perform 
ance,  eh?" 

They  stood  on  the  walk  a  minute.  "You  know  I  told 
you  I  was  keeping  this  adventure  a  secret  from  Joe. 
My  daughter-in-law — " 

"Enough,"  interrupted  Breed;  "let  us  not  spoil  our 
interview." 

"You  see,  the  twins — " 

"No,  I  don't,  thank  Heaven!" 

May  Ca'line  laughed.  "You're  very  rude.  The  poor 
little  things." 

"Quite  so.  The  drug-store  be  it,  then.  Good-bye, 
May."  He  held  out  his  hand  and  she  put  hers  in  it. 

"Bless  you,"  he  said,  pressing  the  hard  little  hand  for 
an  instant. 

The  concentration  of  his  expression  on  the  drive  back 
to  where  the  Rose  Ledge  motor  waited  was  very  grave. 
His  thoughts  were  absorbed  in  his  boy. 

"That  never  occurred  to  me,"  he  muttered  at  last, 
"but  perhaps  it  would  be  a  good  move  for  him.  Per 
haps  I  have  builded  better  than  I  knew." 

Later,  as  his  car  approached  the  gates  of  Rose  Ledge, 
he  saw  Vivian  waiting  by  one  of  the  vine-laden  stone 
posts.  She  often  came  to  meet  him  and  now  he  left  the 
car  and  they  walked  up  the  rose  lane  arm  in  arm. 


TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER  189 

"I  went  over  to  the  house,"  he  said,  without  pre 
amble,  "and  found  a  most  astonishing  sight:  Ferdy 
weeping  in  the  arms  of  his  reader." 

"Daddy!" 

"  She  motioned  me  away  and  I  went." 

"Oh,  daddy,  what  did  it  mean?"  Vivian's  eyes 
filled. 

"Only  good,  I  fancy.  At  any  rate,  she  is  hopeful 
about  him." 

"How  do  you  know?   Did  you  talk  with  her?" 

"I  drove  home  with  her  in  the  motor." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  did.  Isn't  she  attractive?  So 
pretty  and  so  neat  and  such  poor  little  clothes,  and,  do 
you  know,  I  Ve  thought  at  last  who  she  looks  like  — 
that  elusive  resemblance?  I  wonder  if  you  noticed  it." 

"You  mean  Laird?" 

"Why,  you  did  notice  it!"  returned  Vivian,  surprised. 
"How  could  you  locate  it  so  quickly?" 

"Because  it's  rather  natural.    She's  his  mother." 

"Daddy  Breed!" 

"Yes,  you  put  me  off  with  your  'Ladd." 

"I  thought  it  was  'Ladd.":  Vivian's  color  had  risen. 
"I  said  —  I  always  said  he  had  a  lovely  mother,"  she 
added,  looking  into  space. 

"He  has,"  returned  Adam  Breed.  "I  knew  her  long 
ago.  She  was  the  prettiest  girl  in  Leacock  where  I  began 
work.  She  was  already  bespoken  when  I  met  her  or 
she  might  have  been  your  mother  too." 

"Why,  daddy,  you're  taking  my  breath  away!  Why 
do  you  keep  such  secrets  from  me?" 

"Oh,  there  is  no  time  for  back  numbers  in  this  world. 
She  evidently  thought  so  too,  for  it  has  been  plain  to 
see  that  Joe  has  had  no  idea  that  I  knew  his  mother. 


190  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

He  is  to  learn  this  evening  what  she  is  doing  for  us. 
He  has  n't  even  known  that." 

"I  think  it's  a  shame  for  your  generation  to  be  so 
secretive,"  declared  Vivian. 

"You  and  Mrs.  Chetwyn  could  n't  have  named  any 
names  when  you  had  your  confab  in  the  park,  for  Mrs. 
Laird  took  the  position  without  knowing  it  was  the 
family  of  Joe's  employer,  and  felt  rather  embarrassed 
and  glad  to  explain  it  to  me.  She  evidently  wanted  to 
earn  money." 

"Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  Chetwyn  said  she  needed  the  situa 
tion." 

"Probably  she  needed  to  get  away  from  the  house 
more  than  to  earn  the  money,"  returned  Adam  Breed. 

"Oh,  oh,  she  has  to  live  with  that  —  that  wrong 
wife!"  exclaimed  Vivian.  "  I  had  forgotten  that.  What 
more  can  we  do  for  her?  I'd  love  to  dress  her  for  one 
thing." 

Her  father  smiled  down  at  the  girl's  expressive  face. 
"Ferdy  laughed  as  well  as  cried  to-day,"  he  said. 

She  nodded.  "Good!  I  begged  her  to  make  him  laugh. 
Whatever  he  does,  so  long  as  it  is  with  her,  is  all  right. 
We  're  in  a  proscenium  box,  daddy,  and  must  n't  do 
anything  but  look  on.  You  spoke  of  Leacock.  I  had  a 
letter  from  there  to-day.  Willis  Frothingham  wrote 
me  that  he  is  doing  over  an  old  house,  to  an  amusing 
Rube  accompaniment.  He  says  he  is  homesick  for  Rose 
Ledge  and  he  keeps  the  air  dark  with  workmen  in  the 
effort  to  hasten  matters  and  get  away." 

"He'll  be  thorough,  though,"  returned  Adam  Breed 
thoughtfully.  "Frothingham  is  a  good  fellow  and  going 
straight  up  the  ladder.  Shall  you  welcome  him  back  to 
Rose  Ledge?" 


TEARS  AND  LAUGHTER  191 

"Oh,  yes,  I  like  him." 

"His  feeling  for  you  is  not  so  moderate.  He  has  been 
good  enough  to  confide  his  hopes  to  me." 

"What  did  you  say  to  him?"  asked  Vivian,  quite 
calmly. 

"I  didn't  discourage  him.  I  don't  believe  I  have 
any  one  better  to  hope  for  than  Frothingham.  He's 
a  clean,  fine  chap." 

"Yes,  he  is,"  returned  the  girl  abstractedly.  "Daddy, 
don't  you  think  Mr.  Laird  will  be  glad  that  it  is  his 
mother  who  is  helping  us?  I  met  him  in  the  park  with 
his  family  one  day.  I  love  to  think  of  any  pleasure  com 
ing  into  his  life;  and  I'm  sure  this  will  be  one.  He  is 
so  sympathetic  about  Ferdy." 

Adam  Breed  looked  down  at  his  daughter.  She  had 
at  various  times  shown  considerable  solicitude  on  the 
subject  of  his  handsome  secretary.  It  occurred  to  him 
now  that  perhaps  she  had  an  inherited  taste. 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  he  answered;  "Joe's  a  good  fellow. 
His  heart  is  in  the  right  place." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  DRAMATIC  MOMENT 

WHEN  May  Ca'line  tripped  up  the  home  steps  a 
little  later  the  dozen  children  who  had  been  at 
the  party  had  left.  Bob  and  Ella  were  jumping  about 
the  porch,  which  bore  traces  of  the  festivities  in  the 
form  of  spilled  ice-cream  and  cake  crumbs,  and  they 
seized  upon  their  grandmother  with  noisy  demands  for 
the  promised  story. 

"After  you  are  in  bed,  dears.  Don't  you  remember 
what  I  said?" 

"Indeed,  they  won't  have  any  story,"  declared 
Gladys,  suddenly  appearing  in  the  doorway,  evidently 
very  hot,  cross,  and  tired.  "They  have  been  bad  chil 
dren  all  the  afternoon  1" 

"She  took  away  my  beetle,  grandma,"  said  Bob,  his 
little  face  growing  very  red. 

"And  my  doll's  dress  is  torn,"  mourned  Ella. 

"Keep  still,  both  of  you,"  said  Gladys.  "Come 
straight  upstairs  to  bed.  I've  a  mind  to  give  you  both 
a  good  spanking." 

Wails  instantly  filled  the  air. 

"Let  me  put  them  to  bed,  Gladys,"  begged  May 
Ca'line.  "You're  tired,  I'm  sure." 

"A  lot  you  care  if  I  am  tired,"  retorted  Gladys,  turn 
ing  on  her;  "going  out  when  there  was  so  much  to  do 
here." 

"Yes,  grandmother,  you  put  us  to  bed,"  cried  the 
children,  seizing  May  Ca'line's  skirts. 


A  DRAMATIC  MOMENT  193 

Well  they  knew  there  was  reason  to  fear  their  mother 
when  her  eyes  looked  as  they  did  now.  She  pulled 
them  away  from  their  clinging  hold  and  drove  them, 
loudly  weeping,  upstairs  before  her.  May  Ca'line  fol 
lowed  close  and  tried  to  enter  the  nursery  with  them. 

"You  keep  out  of  here  I"  said  Gladys,  facing  her. 

"We  want  you,  grandmother,  we  want  you!"  cried 
the  twins,  struggling  to  pass  their  mother,  tears  racing 
down  their  cheeks. 

The  jealousy  that  had  been  smouldering  all  the  after 
noon  rose  to  Gladys's  head.  May  Ca'line,  white  and 
firm,  held  her  ground. 

"Promise  me,  then,  that  you  won't  whip  the  chil 
dren,"  she  said  steadily. 

"  I  shall  whip  my  own  children  when  I  please  and  not 
ask  you  —  you,  going  around  the  corner  to  meet  your 
smart  friends.  I  saw  you !  Ashamed  of  your  son's  home, 
or  of  yourself,  nobody  knows  which.  I  shall  tell  Joe." 

"Shall  /  tell  Joe  is  the  question?"  returned  May 
Ca'line  slowly,  her  eyes  as  stern  as  the  voice  which  made 
itself  heard  above  the  wailing  which  went  on  distress 
fully.  "Your  errand  around  the  corner  is  very  different 
from  mine,  Gladys.  I  pity  you  and  I  hesitate." 

A  bucket  of  cold  water  poured  over  her  daughter-in- 
law  would  not  have  had  a  more  distinct  effect.  Gladys's 
eyes  dropped  from  the  steady,  accusing  gaze  which 
had  no  fear  of  her,  but  held  such  an  arraignment  as  no 
guilty  conscience  could  sustain. 

"Oh,  put  them  to  bed  if  you  want  to!"  she  said 
suddenly,  and  pushing  by  her  mother-in-law  she  dis 
appeared  and  the  latter  found  herself  alone  with  the 
children  who  rushed  to  her  and  clung  as  to  a  rock  of 
refuge. 


194  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Their  cries  ceased  and  they  were  silent  but  for  an 
occasional  spasmodic  sob  while  she  bathed  and  caressed 
them. 

Gladys  below  stairs  waited  gloomily  for  her  husband. 
Some  instinct  told  her  that  May  Ca'line's  words  had 
been  intended  as  a  warning  to  herself,  but  that  she  had 
not  yet  decided  to  make  her  son  miserable.  If  Gladys 
could  only  by  any  means  instill  a  distrust  of  his  mother 
into  Joe,  it  would  give  her  the  keenest  satisfaction. 
She  reflected  on  the  contrast  between  Henry  Bird's  cheap 
little  runabout  and  the  luxurious  motor  in  which  May 
Ca'line  had  gone  away  and  probably  returned  this  after 
noon,  and  again  a  cankering  jealousy  of  her  mother- 
in-law  returned.  A  dozen  times  during  their  festivity 
to-day  the  children  had  quoted  her  and  fretted  at  her 
absence. 

"We  did  very  well  before  she  came  —  very  well," 
reflected  Gladys  repeatedly.  She  went  down  the  steps 
to  meet  Joe  when  he  appeared,  and  he  wrenched  his 
thoughts  away  from  the  tea-rose  in  the  silvery  cobweb 
as  he  saw  his  wife.  She  had  on  the  deep  pink  gown  to 
day  and  he  felt  a  passing  wonder  as  to  whether,  when  he 
could  afford  to  give  her  finer  raiment,  she  would  con 
sent  to  be  less  flamboyant. 

"I'm  tired  to  death,"  she  announced  as  she  kissed 
him  and  hung  her  heavy  weight  on  his  arm. 

"Children's  party  pretty  strenuous?" 

"I  should  say  so.  Do  sit  down  a  minute  and  cool 
off  before  you  go  in." 

He  dropped  obediently  into  a  piazza  chair  beside  her. 

"It  is  the  one  time  since  your  mother  came  that  she 
could  have  been  a  real  help  to  me  and  she  saw  fit  to 
go  out.  I  must  say  I  never  was  more  surprised." 


A  DRAMATIC  MOMENT  195 

"Why  should  you  have  been  surprised?  You  invited 
her  to." 

"Invited  her  to  what?" 

"You  said  you  preferred  to  run  your  own  children's 
parties." 

"As  if  that  was  any  harm!  Does  she  have  to  be  the 
whole  thing?  Couldn't  she  have  stayed  and  helped 
Nora  with  the  hundred  little  matters  that  have  to  be 
seen  to  at  such  a  time?" 

"I'm  sure  she  would  have  been  glad  to  stay  if  you 
had  asked  her." 

"Guess  again,"  retorted  Gladys;  "I  did  ask  her." 

"Well,  I  am  surprised,  then.  In  her  case  I  didn't 
think  the  worm  could  be  induced  to  turn,"  said  Joe 
wearily.  "What  did  she  answer?  I'd  like  to  hear  what 
the  little  sport  said." 

"Little  sport!  You're  always  petting  her!"  exclaimed 
Gladys. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so,"  returned  Joe  indifferently. 

"She's  more  of  a  sport  than  you  think,  perhaps," 
said  Gladys  viciously.  "Her  reply  this  noon  was  that 
she  had  an  engagement." 

"Bully  for  her.  I  should  think  she 'd  have  wanted  one. 
We  must  get  her  a  new  dress,  Gladys.  She  looks  so  sweet 
to  me  that  I'm  apt  to  forget  that  now  she's  in  Rome 
she'll  want  to  look  a  little  more  as  the  Romans  look." 

"You  think  of  nothing  but  her!"  exclaimed  Gladys, 
her  eyes  wet  with  resentment.  "You  don't  care  a  bit 
that  I'm  tired  out  and  that  she  left  everything  for  me 
to  do.'> 

"Why,  it's  your  own  house,  is  n't  it,  and  your  own 
children?  You've  impressed  that  on  her  often  enough. 
Had  an  engagement!  That  is  a  joke." 


196  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"It  is  not.  You  think  you  know  all  about  her;  know 
all  that  she  is  doing.  She  had  an  engagement  to-day, 
and  she  had  one  yesterday,  and  one  the  day  before." 

Joe  emitted  a  grunt  of  amusement.  "You  mustn't 
be  angry  with  me  if  I  say  I  admire  her  taste.  Of  course 
the  engagement  is  with  the  swans,  but  you've  driven 
her  to  it,  you  know.  It  might  all  have  been  very  dif 
ferent  if  you  had  chosen." 

"Her  engagement  was  not  with  the  swans,"  returned 
Gladys  —  the  rose  set  in  velvet  night  was  a  very  red 
rose  as  she  spoke,  and  the  night  of  her  eyes  showed 
sparks  —  "unless  the  swans  have  the  swellest  limousine 
that  has  ever  been  seen  in  this  neighborhood." 

Joe  turned  toward  her  excited  face. 

"Your  mother  has  evidently  picked  up  some  rich 
acquaintance.  She  spoke  of  this  person  once,  but  do 
you  suppose  that  car  calls  here  for  her?  No,  indeed. 
Your  mother  has  it  meet  her  around  the  block.  Her 
son's  house,  your  house,  is  n't  good  enough  for  her.  She 
starts  off  for  a  walk  as  innocent  as  you  please  and  when 
she  gets  out  of  sight  the  man  in  livery  jumps  down  and 
holds  open  the  door  of  the  motor  and  away  she  goes." 

"Wonderful!"  said  Joe,  and  he  meant  it.  He  had 
never  heard  Martha  Berry  say  that  his  mother  was  a 
kind  of  a  witch,  but  he  would  have  fully  concurred. 

"Now,  you  ask  her,"  went  on  Gladys  —  "ask  her 
at  the  dinner-table  where  she  has  been  this  afternoon. 
See  if  she'll  tell  you.  It's  an  insult  to  us  that  she 
does  n't  have  that  car  call  here.  She  accepts  our  hos 
pitality" —  Joe  interrupted  her  with  a  laugh  —  "and 
repays  it  like  that!"  Gladys  finished  angrily.  "I  just 
happened  to  see  her  get  into  that  car  by  accident." 

"It's  awfully  difficult  to  do  anything  sub  rosa  in  this 


A  DRAMATIC  MOMENT  197 

neighborhood,"  said  Joe,  glancing  around  at  his  wife, 
and  the  guilty  always  fleeing  when  none  pursue,  Gladys 
fancied  his  look  was  strange.  It  was  a  cold  look,  cold 
and  unsympathetic  she  considered,  and  antagonism  rose 
up  against  him. 

"  If  my  mother  can  pick  up  an  acquaintance  with  a 
fine  car  she  is  sensible  to  do  it,"  said  Joe,  stifling  a  yawn 
and  rising  from  his  chair. 

"But  how  do  you  like  her  being  ashamed  of  you?" 

"Gad!  I  should  think  she  would  be,"  was  the  am 
biguous  reply.  "Down  in  five  minutes,  Gladys,"  he 
added,  and  disappeared  into  the  house. 

His  wife  stared  into  the  cucumber  vines  for  a  minute. 
"I'm  a  fool  to  stand  it,"  she  muttered  at  last,  and 
memory  was  busy.  "We  can  only  live  once." 

Joe  was  surprised  at  the  quiet  of  the  nursery,  when 
after  his  ablutions  he  turned  his  steps  thither.  When 
he  reached  the  door  his  mother's  face  smiled  up  at  him 
from  the  pillow. 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  could  be  waked  with  a  cannon," 
she  said,  "but  I'm  afraid  to  get  up  and  climb  over  Bob; 
the  poor  babies  were  so  tired." 

"No  need,"  replied  Joe,  and  reaching  across  his  heir, 
he  lifted  his  mother  from  the  bed  and  stood  her  on  her 
feet.  She  laughed. 

"Thank  you,  dear.  That  was  rather  strenuous  for 
a  hot  night." 

"A  very  small  payment  on  my  debt,  you  mite,"  he 
replied. 

"What  debt?" 

"The  hot  nights  you've  toted  me  around." 

"Oh,  that  was  such  fun,  Joe,"  she  said  wistfully. 
"I've  so  often  wished  I  could  have  you  a  baby  again." 


198  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"I'll  always  be  a  baby  to  you,  honey,"  he  returned, 
kissing  her.  "You're  still  worth  a  dozen  of  me." 

Seated  at  the  dinner-table  Gladys  waited  to  see  if 
her  husband  would  take  her  advice  and  question  his 
mother.  He  had  put  an  indifferent  face  upon  her  dis 
closure,  but  surely  his  vanity  must  have  been  hurt. 

"There  is  joy  in  the  Breed  family  to-day,"  he  said. 

"What  has  happened  to  them  now?"  asked  Gladys. 
"'He  that  hath  a  goose  shall  get  a  goose.'  I  don't  see 
what  more  they  can  want." 

"You've  forgotten,"  said  Joe;  "the  son  has  been  ill 
for  months.  They  live  under  a  cloud  in  spite  of  all 
their  belongings.  He  has  been  threatened  with  melan 
cholia  —  did  n't  even  want  to  see  his  father  and  sis 
ter.  Miss  Breed  told  me  to-day  they  have  found  a 
reader  for  him,  some  one  to  come  in  every  day,  and 
he  has  taken  a  fancy  to  this  person,  has  tea  with  her, 
and  takes  notice  generally.  Miss  Breed  was  jubilant 
talking  about  it." 

"H'm,"  grunted  Gladys;  "why  couldn't  they  have 
got  a  pretty  girl  sooner?  That  was  easy." 

"The  poor  chap's  eyes  have  to  be  bandaged.  Beauty 
would  n't  figure.  He  is  very  difficult,  it  seems;  won't 
have  this  and  won't  have  that.  They  consider  that  they 
have  found  a  prize." 

May  Ca'line,  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  iced  bouillon,  did 
not  speak,  but  ate  busily.  It  was  so  unlike  her  ready 
sympathy  to  make  no  glad  comment  that  her  son  no 
ticed  her  silence  and  downcast  eyes. 

"Getting  the  life  squeezed  out  of  her,"  he  thought 
bitterly. 

Gladys  could  wait  no  longer  to  witness  her  embar 
rassment. 


A  DRAMATIC  MOMENT  199 

"I've  been  telling  Joe  what  a  society  woman  his 
mother  is  getting  to  be,"  she  said,  endeavoring  to  speak 
with  disarming  innocence.  "Engagements  to-day,  en 
gagements  yesterday,  engagements  to-morrow,  and  so 
quiet  about  it." 

May  Ca'line  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  son,  who  did  not 
look  at  her,  and  Nora  began  to  take  away  the  bouillon 
cups. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  quiet  about  it,"  she  replied;  "I 
thought  it  possible  Joe  might  object  to  what  I  was  doing." 

"And  you  were  going  ahead  with  it  anyway?"  re 
turned  Gladys  with  a  sneer. 

Her  husband  sent  her  a  lightning  glance. 

"It  wouldn't  be  possible,"  he  said,  meeting  his 
mother's  pensive  look,  "for  you  to  do  anything  to  which 
I  should  object." 

"Even  to  earn  money,  Joe?"  May  Ca'line's  head 
dropped  on  one  side  in  an  apologetic  gesture.  She  lifted 
her  eyebrows  and  smiled. 

"What?"  Joe  frowned  questioningly.  "To  earn 
money?" 

"You  did  n't  think  I  could,  did  you?  I  shrank  from 
being  just  a  heavy  weight  on  you  and  Gladys.  I  longed 
to  do  something,  but  could  n't  think  of  anything  a 
commonplace  woman  like  myself  could  turn  her  hand 
to.  One  day,  quite  suddenly,  God  sent  me  a  position. 
It  was  in  what  the  children  call  the  Sunday  Park.  I 
call  it  that,  too,  for  my  happiest  moments  since  coming 
to  the  city  have  been  spent  there  with  a  lovely  lady 
whom  you  must  know." 

Gladys  with  lowering  brow  was  listening  as  intently 
as  her  husband.  Her  mother-in-law  was  going  to  make 
good  again. 


200  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"But  why  could  n't  you  have  the  car  call  for  you  at 
your  son's  house?"  she  asked. 

May  Ca'line's  eyes  seemed  to  look  beyond  her  as 
she  replied  simply:  "Because  I  could  not  keep  my  little 
experiment  secret  if  I  did.  Until  I  knew  that  my  services 
could  give  satisfaction  I  did  n't  want  to  disturb  my 
boy.  As  soon  as  I  proved  that  I  was  in  my  right  place 
I  intended  to  tell  him,  and  had  little  doubt  that  he 
would  allow  me  to  be  happy  in  my  own  way." 

"And  we've  forced  your  hand,  mother,"  said  Joe, 
the  line  in  his  forehead  deepening.  "I'm  sorry.  I  speak 
for  Gladys  in  begging  your  pardon." 

"No,  not  at  all,"  returned  May  Ca'line  quietly. 
"  I  am  ready  to  tell  you  now  because  I  Ve  learned  to-day 
that  I  am  adequate  for  the  work.  I  am  the  reader  you 
have  just  spoken  of." 

"What!" 

"The  reader  Miss  Breed  told  you  of  to-day.  She 
understood  my  name  to  be  Ladd.  I  did  n't  correct 
her,  for  I  knew  you  were  acquainted,  and  I  did  n't  want 
her  to  connect  me  with  you  until  I  was  ready  to  speak." 

"That  was  the  Breed  car,  the  Breed  livery,"  thought 
Gladys,  staring  dumbly  before  her. 

Shades  of  amusement,  surprise,  pride,  flitted  over 
Joe  Laird's  face.  "But  you  ought  to  have  told  me, 
honey,"  he  said.  "My  employer's  house,  you  know." 

"Yes,  but  I  did  n't  know  it  was  to  be  in  his  house 
and  with  his  son  until  I  had  committed  myself."  May 
Ca'line  spoke  very  steadily,  but  a  spot  of  color  burned 
in  each  cheek.  "  I  never  told  you  that  long  ago  when 
we  were  young  people  I  knew  Mr.  Breed  well.  He  spent 
a  season  in  Leacock  working  for  that  little  branch  rail 
road.  It  was  while  I  was  engaged  to  your  father.  So  it 


A  DRAMATIC  MOMENT  201 

was  a  strange  thing  for  me  to  do,  to  take  a  position  in 
his  home  without  communicating  with  him,  an  old 
friend,  but  you  were  in  his  employ,  you  see.  If  he  knew 
of  it,  you  would  know  of  it." 

Joe  Laird  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table  in  his 
eagerness.  Adam  Breed  was  his  mother's  old  friend. 
He  kept  his  seeking  eyes  on  her  delicate,  flushed  face 
as  he  tried  to  adjust  his  ideas  and  remember  all  that 
she  had  ever  said  or  asked  concerning  his  employer. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that?"  he  asked.  "Why 
did  n't  you  tell  me  when  I  first  spoke  of  him?" 

"It  was  too  long  ago  to  count  for  anything.  Our 
boy-and-girl  acquaintance  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
present  conditions." 

Joe  was  viewing  the  mental  picture  of  his  cold,  correct, 
powerful  principal,  and  he  slowly  nodded  as  he  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  his  mother.  His  memory  yielded  several 
illuminating  flashes. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  it  has  everything  to  do  with 
present  conditions.  Gladys"  —  he  suddenly  turned  to 
his  wife  who  sat  staring,  her  full  lips  sullenly  parted 
—  "do  you  remember  my  telling  you  that  Mr.  Breed 
picked  me  out  of  the  bunch  of  clerks  and  made  me  his 
secretary  because  I  looked  like  somebody?  Here  is  the 
lady."  He  rose  and  stood  beside  his  mother.  He  did 
not  kiss  her,  but  he  took  her  hand  and  held  it  while  he 
proceeded  with  a  sort  of  solemnity.  "Here  is  the  reason 
we  have  been  able  to  live  in  a  decent  house,  eat  decently, 
dress  decently,  and  hold  up  our  heads,  instead  of  living 
desperately  from  hand  to  mouth." 

May  Ca'line  controlled  heroically  a  temptation  to 
burst  into  tears  with  her  head  on  her  boy's  precious 
hand. 


202  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"Don't  say  any  more  about  it,  please.  I  was  glad/' 
she  managed  to  utter. 

"You  knew  it,  then!" 

"It  seemed  that  it  must  be  so  from  what  you  told 
me.  Your  young  face  was  like  the  youthful  one  he 
remembered.  He — " 

"He  knew  your  age  better  than  I  did  myself.  He 
muttered  something,  and  I  was  sure  he  said  you  were 
forty-seven;  but  he  turned  it  off,  of  course,  and  I 
thought  I  had  heard  wrong.  Well,  well,  mother," 
added  Joe,  gazing  down  at  her  admiringly,  "you  cer 
tainly  made  a  deep  impression." 

"Oh,  hush,  dear.  It  is  n't  worth  remembering.  Please 
go  and  sit  down.  What  we  want  to  be  grateful  for  now 
is  that  I  can  help  that  poor  afflicted  boy." 

Joe  resumed  his  seat  at  the  table,  still  smiling.  "Of 
course,  if  you  stay  with  them  it  will  have  to  come 
out  that  you  are  my  mother,  but  I'll  explain  to  the 
Governor." 

"I  did  explain  to-day,"  said  May  Ca'line. 

"You've  seen  him,  then?" 

"Yes,  he  drove  home  with  me.  That  lovely  Miss 
Vivian  came  over  for  me,  and  he  brought  me  home.  The 
situation  was  a  little  complicated,  but  he  will  tell  his 
daughter,  and  it  will  now  be  all  understood." 

"A  regular  family  affair,"  said  Joe,  with  a  laugh. 
"Gladys,  you  know  I  was  saying  out  on  the  piazza  that 
we  must  get  mother  a  new  dress.  She  must  have  a 
hat,  too.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

Nora,  who  had  sensed  through  the  swing  door  that 
some  tense  moment  was  passing  and  had  waited  accord 
ingly,  now  heard  her  master  laugh  and  came  in  with  the 
meat  course. 


A  DRAMATIC  MOMENT  203 

Gladys  was  eating  a  dinner  of  bitter  herbs.  The 
pulses  throbbed  painfully  in  her  temples.  Everything 
she  would  have  given  a  year  of  her  life  to  gain  had  fallen 
into  the  lap  of  her  mother-in-law.  The  interloper  was 
enthroned  higher  than  ever  in  Joe's  heart  and  pride, 
and  she  was  called  upon  to  be  grateful  for  the  very 
bread  she  was  eating.  Her  husband  turned  to  his  wife 
brightly.  "Is  n't  it  just  like  a  story?"  he  asked. 

"Yes;  if  I  wasn't  so  dead  tired  I  could  appreciate 
it  better,  I  guess.  I've  got  a  splitting  headache.  If  you 
don't  mind  I  think  I'll  leave  you  and  go  to  bed." 

"Shan't  Nora  bring  up  something?"  asked  Joe  as  he 
rose  with  her. 

"No,  I  don't  want  anything  that  Nora  can  give  me," 
was  her  answer. 

She  left  the  room  and  went  upstairs  to  the  extension 
telephone  in  her  room.  There,  before  she  laid  her  ach 
ing  head  on  the  pillow,  she  called  up  Henry  Bird. 

It  was  a  bitter  disappointment  when  word  came  back 
to  her  that  he  had  left  the  city  for  a  couple  of  days. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

EVOLUTION 

MAY  CA'LINE  awoke  with  a  happy  heart  the 
next  morning.  She  doubly  enjoyed  her  tete-a-tete 
breakfast  with  Joe  now  that  he  knew  and  approved  her 
occupation.  As  for  him,  he  looked  at  her  with  new  eyes. 
It  was  evident  enough  to  him  that  if  Adam  Breed's 
youthful  friendship  for  his  mother  had  been  friendship 
only,  he  would  have  told  his  secretary  of  it  when  he 
engaged  him;  and  it  was  as  evident  that  when  he  had 
related  to  his  mother  the  experience  that  evening  in 
Leacock  she  would  have  given  him  the  key  to  it  had 
her  memories  been  not  too  conscious.  Adam  Breed's 
humble  beginning  on  that  little  branch  railroad  had 
occurred  during  her  engagement  to  his  father.  Joe's 
imagination  played  with  the  potentialities  of  the  situa 
tion.  One  possibility  as  it  occurred  to  him  was  repellent, 
foolish  as  that  seemed  under  the  circumstances.  He 
did  not  wish  Vivian  Breed  to  be  his  sister. 

May  Ca'line  called  on  Mrs.  Chetwyn  the  same  morn 
ing  and  told  her  all  that  had  occurred,  save  only  those 
portions  of  the  tale  which  bore  on  her  old  romance.  That 
lady  listened  with  interest. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "when  you  felt  dashed  by  the  dis 
covery  that  your  errand  lay  in  Mr.  Breed's  house,  why 
did  n't  you  communicate  with  him?" 

May  Ca'line  folded  her  cotton  gloves  together  and 
looked  very  demure.  "He  hadn't  told  Joe  that  he 
knew  me.  I  did  n't  wish  to  be  the  first  to  call  up  our 


EVOLUTION  205 

old  acquaintance,"  she  answered,  and  Mrs.  Chetwyn 
nodded. 

"I  see,"  she  responded  kindly,  unconscious  that  it 
was  through  a  glass,  darkly.  "  So  now  you  are  a  happy 
little  lady,"  she  added. 

May  Ca'line  regarded  her  with  grave  eyes.  "I  shall 
be  when  Gladys  is  happy  and  good,  and  Ferdy  is  well." 

"Rejoice  always,"  returned  Mrs.  Chetwyn.  "Your 
thought  can  be  very  important  to  them." 

They  talked  for  an  hour  and  Mrs.  Chetwyn  lent  her 
visitor  books  to  read  and  study,  books  bearing  on  her 
philosophy  of  life. 

"Adam  —  Mr.  Breed,  must  hear  you  talk  of  this," 
said  May  Ca'line  impulsively.  "You  must  come  to 
Ferdy." 

"Wait,"  returned  Mrs.  Chetwyn.  "You  can't  feed 
those  who  are  not  hungry." 

"But  you  never  knew  hungrier  people,"  said  May 
Ca'line. 

"They  must  realize  it  themselves,"  returned  Mrs. 
Chetwyn.  "Rejoice  always,  and  love  always.  Fear 
not,  and  wait." 

"It's  hard  to  wait." 

"Not  when  you  remember  God.  Commit  thy  way 
unto  Him  and  He  will  bring  it  to  pass.  Think  right 
yourself,  that  is  your  part.  Take  a  long  view.  This 
world  is  not  all." 

May  Ca'line  went  away  feeling  exalted,  as  she  always 
did  after  a  talk  with  this  woman. 

When,  later,  she  met  the  chauffeur  before  the  drug 
store  she  realized  gladly  that  subterfuge  was  no  longer 
necessary  and  that  after  this  he  could  call  for  her  at 
her  home. 


206  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

Ferdy  smiled  upon  her  as  she  entered  today.  "You  're 
Mr.  Laird's  mother,"  he  said.  "Why  did  n't  you  tell 
me  that  in  the  first  place?" 

"How  did  I  know  you'd  be  interested?" 

Hansen  was  more  than  ever  beaming  this* afternoon. 
Mr.  Breed's  visit  to  his  son  this  morning  had  been 
comparatively  cheerful  and  the  father  had  left  with  a 
lighter  heart  than  he  had  carried  for  months.  May 
Ca'line  also  was  a  pleasant  object  to  observe  in  the 
relief  and  cheer  of  the  improved  situation.  Hansen  felt 
that  the  change  for  the  better  noticeable  in  her  appear 
ance  was  largely  owing  to  his  own  tact  and  benevolence. 

"Of  course  I'm  interested,"  returned  Ferdy.  "Laird 
is  a  real  fellow.  He  shows  up  great  side  of  men  like 
Frothingham  and  the  other  chaps  hovering  around 
Vivian." 

"I'm  glad  you  like  him.  I  do,  too,  strange  as  it  may 
seem.  He  wants  to  come  to  see  you,  now  you're  so 
near.  Shall  I  tell  him  he  may?" 

"Oh,  don't  bother  him.  He  can't  want  to  come. 
That's  rot." 

"He  does.   He  told  me  so  this  morning." 

"Well,  wait  until  I'm  better  worth  seeing." 

May  Ca'line  smiled  with  pleasure  and  glanced  up 
at  Hansen,  who  nodded  appreciation  of  the  implied 
hope. 

"You  knew  your  son  was  in  dad's  office.  I  do  think 
it's  queer  you  did  n't  tell  me." 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  were  interested  in  mothers," 
replied  May  Ca'line;  "I  thought  grandmothers  were 
more  in  your  line.  I  was  only  sorry  I  could  n't  truth 
fully  say  I  was  a  great-grandmother.  I  knew  you  'd  love 
me  just  that  much  more." 


EVOLUTION  207 

Ferdy  smiled.  "I  guess  I  was  a  grouch.  I  was  dead 
tired  of  that  cackling  bunch  at  Rose  Ledge." 

"If  your  sister's  friends  are  as  delightful  as  she  is, 
I'd  like  to  hear  them  cackle.  I  suppose  I  don't  ever  see 
fashionable  people  where  I  go  —  in  street-cars  and  walk 
ing;  but,  Ferdy,  I'm  thinking  of  writing  an  article  for 
the  paper  on  the  rouge  habit." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  said  you  were  from  the  country. 
The  mural  decorations  look  queer  to  you,  eh?" 

"They  might  decorate  if  they  would  only  look  the 
part.  What  I  object  to  is  their  expression.  When 
people  put  on  eighteen-year-old  cheeks  they  ought  to 
take  off  a  forty-year-old,  blase  expression.  Eighteen  is 
joyous,  hopeful.  It  does  n't  look  at  you  out  of  cynical 
eyes  and  have  a  mouth  like  a  slit." 

"Oh,  you're  far  too  particular,"  replied  Ferdy. 
Then  to  the  amazement  of  his  companion  he  added, 
"I  think  I'll  just  take  a  squint  at  you,  no  matter  what 
breaks."  With  a  sudden  movement  he  pushed  the  band 
age  up  from  his  eyes,  and  looked,  blinking,  straight 
into  May  Ca'line's  face. 

He  pulled  it  down.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "you  look  just 
as  I  expected." 

"I  hope  you  liked  it  well  enough  to  look  at  me  again 
sometime." 

"I'm  going  to,"  was  the  reply. 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject,  and  May 
Ca'line  began  to  read  aloud  from  a  history  which  Hansen 
had  ready.  They  took  "Treasure  Island"  for  dessert. 

When  she  left  that  day,  she  asked  the  chauffeur  to 
drive  her  to  Mr.  Breed's  office. 

Joe  was  busy  at  his  desk  when  an  office  boy  entered 
his  room.  "Somebody  to  see  you,"  he  said. 


208  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Joe  looked  up.   "Well,  who?" 

"Says  she's  your  mother,"  returned  the  boy,  grin 
ning. 

"Show  her  in." 

Joe  rose  and  came  to  the  door,  thinking  some  ca 
tastrophe  must  have  occurred  at  home.  As  his  mother 
approached,  her  face  reassured  him. 

"You  gave  me  a  start,"  he  said,  closing  the  door,  and 
kissing  her,  "but  you  look  happy.  Mother,"  he  added, 
looking  her  over  from  head  to  foot  and  remembering 
the  office  boy's  grin,  "you  must  have  some  new  clothes." 

"Oh,  I  hate  to  have  you  go  to  the  expense,  Joe. 
There's  no  one  to  see  me,  you  know.  I  want  to  talk  to 
Mr.  Breed.  Is  he  busy?" 

"No  one  to  see  you,  eh?"  returned  Joe,  smiling; 
"and  you  wish  to  see  Mr.  Breed.  Don't  you  know  you 
ought  to  be  in  gala  attire  to  visit  him?" 

"It  will  be  good  for  him  to  have  a  change.  He  sees 
enough  gala  attire.  Where  shall  I  find  him?  Is  that 
his  room?"  nodding  toward  a  closed  door. 

"Have  you  an  appointment?"  asked  Joe,  with  mock 
seriousness. 

"That's  what  the  boy  out  there  asked  me.  I  told 
him  at  first  that  I  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Breed;  then  when 
he  looked  as  if  I  was  crazy  I  suggested  seeing  you.  Of 
course  I  have  n't  any  appointment,  but  I  do  want  to 
see  him." 

"Sit  down,  honey.  I'll  inquire  whether  it  is  no 
thoroughfare  at  present.  There's  no  one  with  him." 

Joe  went  to  his  desk  and  touched  a  button.  Some 
answer  returned  to  him  through  a  'phone  and  he  replied, 
"My  mother  wishes  to  see  you  if  you  are  disengaged." 

In  a  minute  the  door  of  the  sanctum  opened  and 


EVOLUTION  209 

Adam  Breed  appeared.  He  came  forward  and  greeted 
the  visitor.  "No  bad  news,  I  hope,"  he  said. 

"No,  indeed,  good  news.  Ferdy  lifted  up  his  eye 
bandage  and  looked  at  me.  He  put  it  back,  but  he  said 
nothing  of  its  being  painful." 

Adam  Breed's  countenance  cleared.  He  turned  to 
ward  Joe,  "I  doubt  if  it  could  be  painful  to  look  at 
her,  don't  you?" 

"I  was  just  telling  her  she  must  have  some  new 
clothes,"  returned  Joe,  proud  and  pleased. 

"Never  mind  trifles,"  said  May  Ca'line  quickly.  "I 
have  come  on  a  serious  errand,  and  if  you  don't  mind, 
Mr.  Breed,  I'd  like  Joe  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

"Very  well.  Come  in  this  way,  please."  He  ushered 
them  into  his  room  and  they  all  sat  down. 

May  Ca'line  at  once  began  to  speak,  and  the  other 
two  gave  close  attention. 

"One  day  in  a  park  I  met  your  friend,  Mrs.  Chetwyn. 
She  saw  me  crying  and  came  right  to  me.  She  talked 
to  me  beautifully.  She  gave  me  a  new  outlook  on  life. 
Everything  has  been  easier  ever  since.  I've  never  had 
a  long  enough  quiet  time  alone  with  Joe  to  tell  him  about 
it.  Through  her  I  came  to  read  to  your  boy.  She  has 
taught  me  to  know  that  God  is  responsible  for  every 
thing  good.  Adam,  do  you  believe  in  God?" 

Joe  sat  transfixed  at  the  use  of  the  Christian  name, 
and  the  amazing  intimacy  of  the  question. 

Mr.  Breed's  face  wore  its  business  mask,  but  May 
Ca'line  did  not  heed  that.  His  opinion  of  her  was  the 
least  of  her  anxieties  at  the  present  moment. 

"I  do,  yes,"  he  replied  stiffly. 

"I  wonder  if  you  worship  the  real  One,  or  an  Idol, 
the  way  I  did.  Mrs.  Chetwyn  walks  in  the  footsteps 


210  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

of  Jesus.  She  not  only  preaches  the  gospel,  but  she 
heals  the  sick.  I  told  her  she  must  see  Ferdy.  She  said 
you  did  n't  wish  her  to  come  to  him.  She  said  that 
one  cannot  feed  those  who  are  not  hungry.  Adam,  can 
you  stand  between  your  boy  and  a  woman  who  knows 
how  to  invoke  God  for  him?" 

"This  is  mere  excitement,"  returned  Mr.  Breed. 
"The  science  of  the  medical  world  is  what  I  must  rely 
upon." 

"Why  in  the  world,  when  it  doesn't  do  anything? 
Not  in  this  case.  Let  me  go  and  talk  to  Ferdy 's  doctor. 
He's  probably  a  big  man,  a  big,  good  man.  He  would  n't 
be  afraid  of  a  good  woman's  prayers  if  you  are.  Don't 
you  know  the  doctor  is  at  his  wits'  end?  Don't  you 
know  he  has  come  to  the  place  where  all  he  can  say  is, 
*  Keep  the  boy  cheerful  and  humor  him '  ?  Now,  Adam, 
you've  been  trusting  Ferdy  to  me  and  I  am  convinced 
that  if  I  could  raise  his  spirits  as  they  have  been  raised 
this  week,  Mrs.  Chetwyn  can  do  more.  Everything  is  in 
favor  of  trying  it.  She  has  taken  care  of  him  through 
illness  before.  He  likes  her.  Give  me  the  right.  Leave  it 
all  to  me.  You'll  see  your  boy  every  day  and  judge 
whether  he  is  improving  or  going  backward.  I  love 
him,  too,  remember." 

Adam  Breed  frowned  slightly  toward  the  glowing  face 
and  beseeching  eyes,  then  turned  toward  his  secretary 
with  a  sudden  smile. 

"  She  'd  make  a  good  Salvation  Army  lass,  eh  ? "  he  said. 

"By  George,  sir,  I'd  let  her  go  her  own  gait  if  I  were 
you,"  replied  Joe. 

Mr.  Breed  turned  back  to  her.  "I  shall  need  to  have 
a  talk  with  the  doctor  first.  He  is  not  using  the  elec 
trical  treatments  now.  Hansen  gives  a  fine  massage  and 


EVOLUTION  211 

I  believe  that,  and  feeding,  is  all  that  is  being  done  at 
present." 

"When,  when  will  you  see  him?  To-night?" 

"I  could." 

"Then,  do.  Will  you?  I'd  rather  go  myself." 

"Mother,  mother,  dear,"  said  Joe  gently. 

May  Ca'line  blinked  and  gave  a  little  start.  "Yes, 
of  course.  I  beg  pardon.  You  must  go,  Mr.  Breed, 
and  then,  if  the  doctor  approves,  will  you  call  up  Mrs. 
Chetwyn  and  ask  her  to  meet  me  there  to-morrow  — 
say  at  three-thirty?" 

"You  don't  believe  in  letting  anybody  get  his  breath, 
do  you?"  said  Adam  Breed. 

"No;  such  a  very  little  breath  is  necessary  for  this." 
The  visitor's  face  grew  slowly  radiant  again,  until  it 
looked  as  Adam  Breed  had  seen  it  raised  above  his  boy's 
bowed  head,  and  she  met  his  gaze  with  eyes  full  of  light. 
"Omnipotent,  Omnipresent,  Omniscient,"  she  said 
softly.  "You  will  get  your  boy  back  again,  Adam. 
Good-bye." 

She  rose  quickly  and  walked  straight  out  of  the  sanc 
tum.  Joe  followed  her,  and  Mr.  Breed,  rising,  looked 
after  them. 

That  afternoon  some  of  Gladys  Laird's  neighbors  saw 
a  handsome  motor  stop  before  her  door  and  saw  step 
out  of  it  the  quaint  little  figure  whom  they  had  learned 
to  be  her  mother-in-law.  They  watched  the  chauffeur 
touch  his  cap  and  saw  her  smile  good-bye  to  him  before 
she  ran  up  the  steps. 

Gladys  noted  it  also  from  the  porch  where  she  sat 
sewing.  The  happiness  in  her  mother-in-law's  face 
turned  the  knife  in  her  wound  and  she  gave  her  only 
a  brief  nod  of  greeting. 


HEARTS9  HAVEN 

May  Ca'line,  however,  forced  herself  to  sit  down 
near  her.  "The  boy  seemed  a  little  better  to-day,"  she 
said. 

"That's  good,"  responded  Gladys,  not  lifting  her 
eyes  from  her  sewing. 

"Where  are  the  children?" 

"In  the  yard,"  was  the  answer.  The  younger  wom 
an's  attitude  was  calm,  cold,  aloof,  quite  different,  May 
Ca'line  felt,  from  any  of  her  previous  moods. 

"I  was  thinking  as  I  came  home  of  asking  you  if  you 
would  n't  like  me  to  take  charge  of  the  children  until 
noon  every  day,  dress  them  in  the  morning,  and  take 
them  off  your  mind  for  that  period  until  you  go  away." 

Gladys  looked  slowly  up  at  her.  "Am  I  going  away?" 
she  asked  quietly.  There  was  that  in  her  somber  eyes 
that  made  her  companion  very  uncomfortable. 

"  I  understood  so  —  on  your  vacation.  Joe  was  telling 
me  to-day  how  near  by  are  various  resorts.  It  is  lovely 
to  be  so  near  the  sea.  It  will  be  fine  for  you  and  him  and 
the  children  to  get  off  by  yourselves  for  a  couple  of 
weeks.  Even  if  you  want  to  take  Nora  as  nurse  I  can 
get  on  perfectly  alone.  You  know  I  lived  so  in  Leacock 
and  I  have  no  fear." 

Gladys  resumed  her  sewing.  "You  have  it  all 
planned,  have  n't  you?"  she  said. 

"Why  —  why,  Joe  has,  I  believe." 

"Where  have  you  seen  Joe?" 

"At  his  office.  I  wanted  to  talk  to  Mr.  Breed  about 
Ferdy  —  his  son." 

"Perhaps  Joe  will  tell  me  his  plans  sometime." 

May  Ca'line  could  not  bear  the  oppressive  atmos 
phere  longer.  A  tangible  pall  seemed  to  hang  over  her. 
Each  thing  she  said  seemed  to  be  a  mistake.  She  rose 


EVOLUTION  213 

and  hesitated.  "May  I  help  you  mornings  with  the 
children?"  she  asked.  . 

Gladys  again  raised  her  dark  glance  to  her  with  a 
strange  smile.  "As  if  you  needed  to  ask  my  permission 
to  do  anything  here,"  she  replied.  "Our  benefactress." 

May  Ca'line's  eyes  stung,  and  as  she  entered  the 
house,  she  saw  the  staircase  through  a  mist.  "Only  a 
week  more,"  she  thought,  "and  they  will  be  going.  I 
can  bear  it  until  then.  Surely  two  weeks  away  alone 
with  Joe  and  the  sea  breezes  will  make  her  feel  differ 
ently.  She  will  come  back  a  new  woman,  and  I  will  have 
found  a  room  outside  so  they  can  have  their  little  home 
undisturbed.  Poor  child,  she  is  very  unhappy!" 

Joe  came  home  that  night  in  unusually  good  spirits. 
That  interview  between  his  awe-inspiring  employer 
and  his  mother  had  been  as  amazing  as  it  was  interest 
ing  to  him.  May  Ca'line  had  evidently  not  been  at  all 
aware  of  her  own  temerity,  nor  thought  of  herself  in 
the  least,  and  her  son  admired  her  more  than  ever,  accus 
tomed  as  he  was  to  seeing  people  kowtow  to  the  railroad 
magnate. 

Gladys  was  still  sewing  on  the  porch  when  he  came  up 
the  steps.  The  children  safe  in  bed,  she  had  come  out 
again  into  the  shade  of  the  cucumber  vine.  He  greeted 
her  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Well,  vacation  is  in  sight  at  last,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  your  mother  was  just  telling  me." 

Joe  laughed.  "Gad,  Gladys,  you  ought  to  have  seen 
her  stand  up  to  the  Governor  to-day.  Called  him 
Adam.  I  nearly  fell  off  my  chair." 

"H'm,"  assented  Gladys,  sewing  busily;  "that  was 
exciting."  Her  colorless  tone  and  manner  were  so  un 
usual  that  it  gave  her  husband  pause. 


214  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Still  have  the  headache?"  he  asked  solicitously,  for 
she  did  indeed  look  pale.  "I  think  it's  about  time  you 
got  out  of  here  as  well  as  myself.  Mr.  Breed  announced 
to-day  that  I  could  go  in  a  week  and  stay  for  three 
weeks  if  we  wished." 

"That's  good,"  returned  Gladys,  still  with  a  calm 
that  seemed  portentous. 

Her  husband  gazed  at  her  downcast  face.  "What  do 
you  say  to  Breakers  Beach?" 

"That's  a  good  place,"  returned  Gladys. 

"She  must  be  going  to  be  ill,"  thought  Joe;  but  re 
calling  the  talk  at  last  night's  dinner-table  he  considered 
that  it  might  be  she  had  received  a  chastening  which 
determined  her  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf. 

"I  never  realized  mother's  quaint  appearance  so 
much  as  when  she  walked  into  the  office  to-day.  I  won 
der  if  you  would  n't  go  with  her  to-morrow  morning, 
Gladys,  and  get  her  something  to  wear  that  looks  less 
like  a  hand-down  from  Mrs.  Noah." 

His  wife  looked  up  at  him  with  the  same  slow  gaze 
she  had  bestowed  on  May  Ca'line.  "Something  ready- 
made,  you  mean?" 

"Yes.  This  is  the  season  they  sell  off  everything 
cheap,  is  n't  it?  You  Ve  always  told  me  so.  You  might 
get  something  for  yourself  at  the  same  time." 

Gladys  gave  a  faint  smile  and  returned  to  her  work. 
"It  would  be  of  no  use  for  me  to  go  with  her.  Our 
tastes  would  n't  agree.  Better  just  hand  her  your  check 
book  and  let  her  go  alone." 

Joe  ignored  the  thrust. 

"She  is  too  timid  and  inexperienced  to  go  alone,"  he 
replied. 

"Then  go  with  her  yourself." 


EVOLUTION  215 

"Me?  Would  n't  I  be  a  bull  in  a  china  shop!" 

During  dinner  and  the  evening  Gladys  kept  her  pose 
of  silence  and  docility.  Her  attitude  was  as  if  she  stood 
outside  the  plans  and  movements  of  her  household.  She 
retired  early  again  that  night,  leaving  Joe  and  his 
mother  tete-a-tete. 

"That  poor  child  is  very  unhappy,"  said  May  Ca'line 
when  Gladys  had  gone  upstairs. 

"Well,  she  swallowed  a  quite  large  pill  last  night,"  he 
rejoined.  "She  needed  it,  mother  —  and  deserved  it," 
he  added,  the  line  deepening  in  his  forehead. 

His  mother  looked  at  him  fondly. 
"I  can  hardly  wait  for  you  to  get  away  on  the  vaca 
tion,"  she  said. 

"You  are  coming,  too,  you  know,"  he  returned. 

"Not  for  the  world!"  declared  May  Ca'line.  "You 
and  Gladys  need  to  be  by  yourselves  and  at  leisure. 
You  need  a  holiday  from  everything  but  each  other  and 
the  children." 

The  hard  expression  of  her  boy's  face  as  he  returned 
her  look  startled  her.  "You  must  be  very  tender  with 
her,  Joe.  She  has  n't  had  advantages  or  training.  Our 
natures  blossom  under  love  and  patience,  remember." 

"I've  had  patience,"  he  replied. 

"Yes,  you  have,  dear,  but  she  will  show  a  more  at 
tractive  side  when  you  are  alone  and  you  have  nothing 
to  do  but  show  her  little  attentions." 

"Mother,  I  wish  you  would  come,"  he  said  gravely. 

"Never,  my  dear.  You  do  wrong  to  wish  it." 

"I  thought  that  you  two  might  take  excursions  to 
gether  and  I  could  go  fishing,  perhaps  —  deep-sea  fish 
ing  that  women  would  n't  care  for." 

"My  boy?"  she  said  gently. 


216  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

He  drew  a  deep  breath  and  shook  his  head,  as  if 
throwing  off  some  incubus.  "By  the  way,  we're  going 
on  a  toot  to-morrow  morning,  you  and  I,"  he  said. 

"What  sort?' 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  to  one  of  our  big  shops  and 
let  somebody  that  knows  how  dress  you." 

"Joe,  dear,  Gladys  won't  like  that." 

"She  knows  it.  I've  told  her.  It  has  simply  got  to  be 
done." 

May  Ca'line  smiled  up  at  him.  "Are  you  ashamed  of 
me,  dear?" 

"No  —  of  myself,"  returned  Joe  crisply.  "I  don't 
know  anything  about  such  things,  but  when  you  came 
into  the  office  to-day  I  knew  something  had  to  be  done." 

"Did  I  look  like  the  original  country  cousin?"  she 
laughed. 

Joe  bowed  his  head  on  her  little  shoulder  and  she 
caressed  it. 

"I,"  he  said  deliberately,  "am  the  original  gump  and 
bonehead.  I  have  only  one  thing  to  be  proud  of  and  that 
is  that  you  are  my  mother.  I've  been  wanting  to  ask 
you  something,"  he  added,  sitting  up  suddenly.  "Tell 
me  why  you  don't  want  a  room  near  us.  Tell  me  the 
honest  reason  why  you  insist  upon  making  the  sacrifice 
that  I  know  it  must  be  to  you  to  stay  on  here  in  discom 
fort?" 

"It  was  for  love  of  you,  dear,  but  I  believe  now  that 
it  was  not  wise.  I 've  decided  to  go.  I  Ve  decided  to  ac 
cept  your  offer,  but  not  until  you  come  back  from  your 
vacation.  I  will  watch  the  house  and  see  that  it  does  n't 
run  away  while  you  are  gone." 

"It  had  better  be  a  regular  boarding-place,"  said  Joe. 
"  I  thought  at  first  that  you  could  have  a  room  and  come 


EVOLUTION  217 

here  for  meals,  but  I  think  now  that  the  other  way 
would  be  happier  for  you." 

"I  do,  too,"  rejoined  May  Ca'line  quietly.  "I  can 
make  a  search  while  you  are  gone." 

There  followed  a  silence  during  which  each  believed 
he  understood  the  thoughts  of  the  other,  and  the  mother 
was  glad  that  her  boy  had  accepted  a  half-truth. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  TEA-PARTY 

MAY  CA'LINE  and  her  boy  forgot  all  cares  and 
problems  for  one  hour  the  next  morning,  save 
only  the  vexed  question  of  clothes;  vexed  for  May 
Ca'line  because  she  feared  to  buy  something  too  expen 
sive  for  Joe's  pocket-book  and  for  him  because  of  chafing 
at  an  unaccustomed  and  bewildering  environment. 

"You've  been  too  generous,  Joe,  that  is  the  only 
trouble,"  she  said  as  he  looked  upon  her  at  last  with 
pride  and  satisfaction.  "I  hope  it  won't  worry  Gladys. 
You  see,  I  can  tell  her  it  is  instead  of  a  vacation  trip  for 
me.  I  shall  tell  Ferdy  he  will  surely  have  to  look  at  me 
to-day." 

They  parted  and  May  Ca'line  started  home  with 
some  apprehension,  but  she  knew  that  Gladys  was 
aware  of  their  errand  and  would  be  prepared  for  the  re 
sult.  Again,  as  on  yesterday,  the  young  woman's  man 
ner  was  a  puzzle.  She  appeared  to  be  laboring  under 
repressed  excitement.  Spots  of  color  burned  in  her 
cheeks.  There  were  shadows  under  her  eyes,  but  she 
said  little.  She  appeared  to  be  abstracted  at  the  lunch- 
table  and  May  Ca'line  remarked  her  manner  of  gazing 
at  the  children,  apparently  unconscious  of  the  quarrel 
some  racket  into  which  they  fell  before  the  meal  was 
over,  saying  no  word  of  rebuke.  "You're  very  fine, 
are  n't  you?"  was  the  only  comment  she  made  on  the 
transformation  in  her  mother-in-law's  appearance. 

"Yes;  I  was  saying  to  Joe  that  these  clothes  are  in- 


A  TEA-PARTY  219 

stead  of  a  vacation  trip.  I  think  I  shall  be  more  credit 
to  both  of  you  now  that  I  look  as  if  I  belonged  to  the 
present  century." 

Gladys  made  no  response  to  this. 

May  Ca'line' s  instinct  that  the  children  would  feel 
the  lure  of  the  Breed  motor  proved  correct  that  after 
noon.  They  were  on  the  porch  with  their  mother  when 
the  car  drew  up. 

"Where  you  going,  grandmother?"  they  cried  in  uni 
son  as  May  Ca'line  in  her  pretty  silken  raiment  tripped 
down  the  steps.  The  novel  elegance  of  her  with  the 
bachelor  buttons  in  her  hat  impressed  even  their  youth 
ful  minds. 

"  I  'm  going  visiting,  dears.  I  '11  be  home  pretty  soon." 

"We  want  to  go  to  ride,"  shouted  the  twins. 
"Mother,  can't  we  go  with  grandmother?" 

Gladys  looked  at  the  car  in  silence,  and  they  pulled 
her  dress  to  attract  her  attention.  "Mother,  can't  we 
go  riding  with  grandmother?" 

"Hush,"  said  Gladys  vaguely,  "you'll  be  going  some 
day." 

"We'll  have  a  picnic  to-morrow,"  May  Ca'line 
called  back  before  she  stepped  into  the  car. 

"I  think  she's  mean.  I  think  we  might  go,"  said 
Ella,  pouting. 

Her  mother  smiled  at  her  strangely,  and  patted  Bob's 
hand  where  it  clutched  her  skirt.  "Didn't  you  hear 
what  your  grandmother  said  —  that  you  will  have  a 
picnic  to-morrow?" 

"I'm  glad,"  declared  the  more  optimistic  Bob.  "I 
love  grandmother  more  than  anybody  but  daddy." 

Gladys  winced  and  her  strongly  marked  eyebrows 
drew  together. 


220  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Run  away,  both  of  you,"  she  said  breathlessly. 
"After  a  while  Nora  is  going  to  take  you  to  the  movie." 

May  Ca'line,  relieved  that  the  ordeal  had  passed 
without  any  stinging  remarks  from  her  daughter-in- 
law,  gave  herself  over  to  thoughts  of  how  she  should 
talk  to  Ferdy  this  afternoon  to  bring  about  the  desire 
of  her  heart  for  his  welfare. 

When  she  entered  the  library  Hansen  welcomed  her 
with  his  usual  beaming  smile,  but  his  eyes  rested  on 
her  with  surprise  and  admiration. 

"Mrs.  Laird  looks  very  fine,"  he  said. 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  Ferdy  as  she  took  his 
hand. 

"I've  turned  into  a  lady  of  fashion;  that's  what  he 
means.  I  belong  in  the  shiny  car  now.  This  morning  my 
boy  took  me  to  the  biggest  store  I  ever  saw  and  told 
them  to  dress  me  up,  and  they  did.  Is  n't  my  hat 
pretty,  Hansen?" 

"Madam  looks  ten  years  younger  than  one  week 
ago,"  returned  the  nurse  sincerely. 

"Look  here,"  said  Ferdy,  grinning;  "it  seems  to  me 
I  'm  curing  you,  instead  of  your  curing  me." 

"That's  the  very  thing  that's  happening,"  said  May 
Ca'line.  "  I  was  eating  my  heart  out  when  I  first  came 
here,  and  you've  given  me  so  much  else  to  eat,  both 
materially  and  mentally,  that  I  feel  like  a  new  being. 
Don't  you  want  to  look  at  me  once  before  I  take  my  hat 
off?  You  don't  often  get  such  an  opportunity." 

"I  shall  have  to,"  replied  the  boy,  and  again  he 
pushed  up  his  bandage  and  took  a  blinking,  fleeting 
view  of  his  reader. 

"You're  a  peach,"  he  said  as  he  dropped  it,  "and 
that  hat's  a  beaut." 


A  TEA-PARTY  221 

May  Ca'line's  slow  smile  faded.  She  handed  her  hat 
to  the  waiting  Hansen.  "Did  your  eyes  give  you  any 
pain  that  time,  Ferdy?" 

"No." 

"Why  don't  you  try  it  a  little  longer,  then?" 

"I  like  the  feeling  of  the  bandage,"  he  replied;  "I  like 
the  feeling  of  being  shut  away.  I  don't  want  anything 
of  the  world  since  it  does  n't  want  anything  of  me." 

Hansen  withdrew  softly  and  closed  the  door.  The 
morning  had  not  been  cheerful  and  he  was  very  glad  to 
hand  his  charge  over  to  the  reader. 

"I've  come  to-day  very  full  of  a  new  idea,  Ferdy," 
she  began. 

"Ten  to  one  it's  a  cheerful  one,"  he  responded  lan 
guidly. 

"Very.  Very,  indeed.  You  have  a  chance  to  make  me 
very  happy." 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  a  power,  I  am." 

"Just  by  being  patient,  Ferdy." 

"Patient!"  he  repeated  with  sudden  emphasis; 
"have  n't  I  been?  I  tell  you,  I  invented  patience." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know;  but  this  is  different.  It  is  to  be 
patient  with  a  new  idea.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  an 
all-powerful  God  and  His  will." 

"Oh,  forget  it!"  exclaimed  Ferd^.  "Didn't  one  of 
dad's  friends  come  in  to  see  me  at  Rose  Ledge  and  bore 
me  to  death  with  talk  of  being  resigned  to  God's  will?  I 
knew  her,  all  right.  I  knew  she  would  n't  be  resigned  to 
it  if  His  will  had  n't  been  that  she  should  have  every 
thing  under  the  sun  that  she  could  think  of." 

"Yes;  I'm  not  going  to  talk  to  you  that  way.  I've 
come  here  to-day  to  tell  you  not  to  be  resigned  to  sick 


ness." 


222  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"That's  easy." 

"Sometimes  and  sometimes  not.  It  seems  bred  in  our 
very  bones  to  respect  illness  and  bow  down  to  its  power. 
I  Ve  become  convinced,  Ferdy,  that  sickness  is  n't 
God's  will,  and  that  when  we  say,  'Thy  will  be  done,' 
we're  calling  on  health  of  body  as  well  as  of  mind.  Else 
why  did  Jesus  make  all  the  cures  and  never  refuse  any 
body  who  asked  him?  Besides  doing  this  Himself,  He 
said  over  and  over  again  that  all  who  believed  should  do 
the  same  work  He  did,  and  He  commanded  them  to  do 
it.  Mrs.  Chetwyn  says  that  for  two  hundred  years  and 
more  after  His  time  they  did  do  it,  and  then  thought 
became  less  and  less  spiritual  and  more  and  more  ma 
terial  until  the  healing  power  was  lost.  Now  a  few  peo 
ple  are  waking  up  to  this  power  again,  and  consecrating 
their  lives  to  it.  Mrs.  Chetwyn  is  one.  Your  own  dear 
friend.  She  has  been  the  means  of  healing  illness  re 
peatedly.  What  I  want  is  for  you  to  let  her  come  and 
talk  to  you.  If  she  can  show  you  that  you  are  a  victim 
and  that  you  don't  need  to  submit,  won't  we  be  happy? 
Radiantly  happy?  Have  you  ever  guessed,  Ferdy,  what 
it  is  that  I  love  better  than  books  and  reading?  It 
is  boys;  and  at  present  you  are  the  boy.  My  heart  is 
wrapped  up  in  the  idea  of  getting  you  out  of  that  chair 
and  on  your  two  feet  again,  and  when  I  think  that  God 
wants  it,  too,  and  that  Omnipotence  works  accord 
ing  to  its  own  law,  and  that  we  have  a  friend  who 
knows  that  law,  do  you  wonder  I  have  to  hold  on  to 
my  eagerness?" 

"Mrs.  Laird,  you  are  very  kind  to  care  so  much," 
replied  the  boy,  touched  by  his  companion's  sincere 
fervor. 

"I'm  very  ignorant  about  it  all  as  yet,  but  I'm 


A  TEA-PARTY 

studying,  and  loving  the  idea  of  a  God  of  Love  and 
Intelligence.  I  went  to  see  your  father  yesterday  and 
he  has  asked  the  doctor,  who  has  no  objection  to  our 
trying,  and  I'm  expecting  Mrs.  Chetwyn  now  to  come 
in  and  talk  with  you  —  if  you  want  her." 

Could  Ferdy  have  seen  the  appealing  eyes  that 
waited  for  his  answer! 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  want  whatever  you  want,"  he  re 
plied.  "Do  you  suppose  she  will  stay  so  long  we  can't 
read?" 

"No;  we'll  read  first.  She  won't  come  for  half  an 
hour  yet.  I  went  to  the  drug-store  this  morning  and 
telephoned  her  and  made  the  arrangement." 

"I  like  her  very  much,"  said  Ferdy  coolly.  "I'll  see 
her  any  time.  Go  right  on  in  the  history,  will  you, 
please,  from  the  place  you  left  off  yesterday?" 

When,  later,  Hansen  came  in  to  announce  Mrs. 
Chetwyn,  May  Ca'line  went  out  to  the  sheeted  and 
shaded  reception-room  to  meet  her.  To  her  surprise  she 
found  Adam  Breed  there  also.  They  both  remarked  the 
altered  appearance  of  the  little  lady,  but  May  Ca'line 
had  forgotten  all  about  her  fine  feathers. 

"Have  you  had  a  talk  with  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  Mr. 
Breed?"  she  asked,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Yes,  for  the  last  hour,"  he  returned.  "She  has  given 
me  her  —  her  working  hypothesis,  perhaps  you  might 
call  it." 

He  smiled,  speaking  as  one  who  would  be  lenient. 

"How  does  Ferdy  feel  about  seeing  me?"  asked  Mrs. 
Chetwyn. 

"He  is  willing,"  returned  May  Ca'line.  "I  will  come 
in  with  you  and  get  my  hat." 

When  they  entered  the  room  and  Mrs.   Chetwyn 


224  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

greeted  the  sick  boy,  he  turned  his  head  restlessly. 
"Mrs.  Laird?" 

"Yes?"  returned  May  Cal'ine,  pinning  on  her  hat. 

"You're  not  going  away?" 

"I'd  rather  leave  you  alone  for  your  talk,  Ferdy." 

"But  you  must  come  back  to  give  Mrs.  Chetwyn  tea." 

"All  right,  I  shall  be  glad  to.  In  half  an  hour,  then?" 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  smiled  and  nodded  and  May  Ca'line 
went  out. 

She  found  Adam  Breed  walking  up  and  down  the 
dim,  impressive  hall. 

"Are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"No;  I'm  to  wait  for  half  an  hour,  and  then  Ferdy 
wants  me  to  come  back  for  tea." 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  n't  get  in  on  that  tea-party." 

"Of  course.  You  should."  May  Ca'line  met  his  eyes 
gravely.  "It  is  a  celebration,  Adam." 

"You  are  very  enthusiastic." 

"How  did  you  like  Mrs.  Chetwyn's  ideas?" 

"I  found  them  interesting." 

"You  could  n't  help  that." 

"No.  At  the  same  time  I  don't  think  I  should  ever  be 
prepared  to  turn  my  mental  world  topsy-turvy  and  put 
every  one  of  my  carts  before  the  horses." 

"But  supposing  you  found  you  had  always  been  mis 
taken  in  the  way  you  harnessed  your  horse,  and  that 
the  cart  went  much  better  with  the  horse  hitched  right? 
I  can  see  that  the  interesting  part  of  this  philosophy 
is  that  it  is  n't  all  talk;  that  you  can  prove  it  is  truth 
as  you  go  along.  Of  course,  it  is  all  new  to  me.  I  have 
to  see  it  proved  as  much  as  you  do,  only  I  believe  it 
will  be." 

"And  I  hope  it  will  be,"  responded  Adam  Breed 


A  TEA-PARTY 

gravely.   "We  have  half  an  hour  to  wait.    Suppose  we 
drive  a  bit?" 

"How  many  motors  have  you?"  asked  May  Ca'line, 
sinking  into  the  cushions  of  the  open  car  which  was 
waiting  at  the  curb. 

"I  come  to  business  in  this  one,"  responded  her  com 
panion.  "It  is  a  pretty  drive  from  my  country  place. 
You  must  come  out  to  Rose  Ledge  some  day." 

"  I  should  like  to.  I  met  your  charming  daughter." 
"How  goes  everything  in  Leacock  now?" 
"Just  the  same,  or  nearly.  We  did  n't  think  Lea- 
cock  could  ever  change,  but  since  I  came  away  it  has  a 
movie  theater  and  "  —  May  Ca'line's  brightness  faded 
—  "and  my  old  home  has  been  bought  and  is  being 
made  over  into  a  modern,  stylish  sort  of  place." 
"You  speak  as  if  you  did  n't  like  the  idea." 
"At  first  it  was  a  blow;  but  I  realize  that  that  was  a 
foolish  feeling.    It  had  gone  out  of  my  possession,  any 
way,  and  there  is  nothing  to  call  me  back  there.  Do  you 
remember  Hetty  Woodward  and  Martha  Sharp?" 
"Vaguely."  ' 

"  I  think  Martha  was  married  to  Simon  Berry  about 
the  time  you  left.  They  have  been  the  best  of  friends  to 
me  and  their  letters  tell  me  of  the  doings  in  Leacock. 
They  are  very  much  in  love  with  the  charming  young 
man  who  has  bought  —  bought  my  old  home.  A  Mr. 
Frothingham.  He  seems  to  have  put  new  life  into  the 
sleepy  town." 

"That's  not  a  bad  use  for  your  old  home,  May." 
"No,  I  realize  that,  and  as  Martha  said,  when  I  was 
leaving  with  fear  and  trembling  to  come  to  Joe,  we  can't 
help  one  chapter  closing  and  another  beginning  in  this 
changing  world." 


226  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

Adam  Breed  regarded  her  quizzically.  "You  look  as 
if  you  were  beginning  a  new  chapter  to-day,  yourself." 

"I  am,"  she  returned,  looking  up  at  him  earnestly. 
"You  don't  know  how  I  felt  when  I  closed  that  door  on 
Mrs.  Chetwyn  and  Ferdy." 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that,  you  little  fashion-plate." 

"Oh,  really?"  May  Ca'line  laughed  and  blushed. 
"Think  of  that  dear,  big  Joe  taking  me  and  dressing  me 
up  like  a  doll,  and  me  scared  all  the  time  for  fear  he  was 
spending  too  much." 

"He  got  his  money's  worth,"  returned  Adam  Breed, 
regarding  her. 

"It  is  so  long  since  I  have  had  anything  new  that  I 
should  probably  be  thinking  about  my  clothes  all  the 
time  if  it  were  not  for  Ferdy.  He  saves  me  from  the 
sin  of  vanity.  He  is  such  a  dear,  Adam.  I  said  to  him 
to-day  how  hard  it  was  to  realize  that  we  have  been  ac 
quainted  only  a  week,  we  seem  such  old  friends,  and 
he  replied  that  to  people  in  his  position  minutes  were 
days." 

Adam  Breed  turned  his  head  away.  A  cloud  fell  over 
his  face  and  his  companion  saw  it. 

"We  must  n't  be  late  to  that  tea,"  she  said  brightly. 
"We  must  make  it  a  little  festival." 

And  they  did.  May  Ca'line  when  she  went  in  looked 
eagerly  at  the  patient.  She  would  not  have  been  sur 
prised  to  see  the  eye  bandage  gone  and  to  have  him 
greet  her  standing. 

He  lay  in  the  same  position  and  Mrs.  Chetwyn  rose 
from  her  seat  beside  him. 

"Ferdy,  I  have  asked  your  father  to  have  tea  with 
us,"  said  May  Ca'line. 

He  turned  his  face  toward  her  and  smiled.    "So  we 


A  TEA-PARTY  M7 

are  giving  a  party/'  he  answered,  and  she  drank  in  his 
pleasant  and  gentle  tone. 

Adam  Breed  followed  and  greeted  his  boy;  and  the 
tea-cart,  well  laden,  glided  up  to  its  place  beside  the 
chair. 

May  Ca'line  and  Mrs.  Chetwyn  drove  home  together 
and  the  latter  responded  to  the  dumb,  eager  question 
ing  of  the  other's  eyes. 

"He  was  very  courteous,"  she  said.  "He  did  n't  ar 
gue.  I  don't  know  whether  he  listened  to  all  that  I 
said,  but  he  agreed  passively  to  put  himself  under  my 
care  and  foljpw  my  directions.  He  made  it  very  clear, 
however,  that  it  was  for  your  sake." 

"Is  that  any  harm?"  asked  May  Ca'line  anxiously. 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  smiled.  "No  harm.  It  is  his  mani 
festation  of  love  at  present,  and  Love  is  the  gateway." 

As  May  Ca'line  left  the  car  at  her  door  she  took  her 
friend's  hand.  "It  has  been  a  wonderful  day!"  she  said; 
"  I  am  very  happy.  It  is  so  easy  to  rejoice  just  now." 

Mrs.  Chetwyn  threw  her  a  kiss  as  the  car  moved  on. 

"I  wonder  what  time  it  is,"  thought  May  Ca'line, 
turning  toward  the  house;  "I  must  be  very  late." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AT  SUNSET 

*"  I  ^HERE  was  no  one  on  the  porch  and  May  Ca'line 
-*•  hastened  into  the  house.  She  met  Nora  coming 
downstairs  with  a  rather  irritated  look  on  her  usually 
good-natured  countenance. 

"Sure,  Mrs.  Laird  has  a  right  to  be  home  to  put  the 
children  to  bed.  I've  enough  to  do  without  that,"  she 
sputtered. 

"Is  it  so  late?"  asked  May  Ca'line  contritely.  "I 
ought  to  have  been  here  myself  to  help  you,  but  Mrs. 
Laird  prefers  to  care  for  the  children.  She  has  never 
failed  to  be  home  by  this  time.  Where  is  she?" 

"Find  Mr.  Bir-rd  and  ye '11  know,"  answered  the  girl 
pertly. 

"Please  don't  say  such  things,  Nora,"  said  May 
Ca'line  with  gentle  dignity.  "Mr.  Laird  will  be  home 
any  minute  now.  Perhaps  she  is  with  him.  Where  did 
she  say  she  was  going?" 

"  Sure,  I  left  her  here  whin  I  wint  off  with  the  children 
to  the  four-o'clock  movie.  She  did  n't  speak  o'  goin'  out, 
but  not  wishin'  to  displease  ye,  mum,  it's  a  bad  sign 
whin  she  sinds  me  to  the  theayter  with  'em  instead  o' 
goin'  herself."  Nora  gave  a  quick  and  knowing  nod  and 
passed  on  toward  the  kitchen. 

May  Ca'line  went  upstairs  to  her  room.  The  door 
into  the  nursery  was  open  and  sounds  of  revelry  were 
heard.  Two  bumps  on  the  floor  were  followed  by  little 
white-clad  figures  pushing  by  each  other,  hastening  in 
to  meet  her. 


AT  SUNSET  229 

"Oh,  darlings,  run  right  back,"  she  said,  kissing  them 
and  pushing  them  before  her.  Evidently  the  novelty  of 
Nora's  ministrations  had  destroyed  the  usual  system. 
"It's  time  for  daddy  to  come  home,  and  probably 
mother  is  with  him.  Now,  get  right  into  bed  and  be 
ready  for  them." 

"But  we're  going  on  a  picnic  to-morrow,"  said  Ella. 

"Yes,  yes,  indeed  we  are." 

"And  there'll  be  jam,"  said  Bob. 

"There  certainly  will  be  if  mother  is  willing.  Now, 
hop  in.  I  hear  daddy  now.  He'll  have  a  few  splashes  in 
the  nice,  cold  water  and  then  you'll  get  a  good  tossing 
to  get  ready  for  the  Sandman." 

"Who's  the  Sandman?" 

"Don't  you  know  about  him?  Well,  to-morrow  at  the 
picnic  I'll  tell  you.  He's  a  dear  little  man." 

"Not  so  nice  as  daddy,"  declared  Bob. 

"No,  he  does  n't  toss  you  a  bit.  That  wakes  you  up. 
It's  his  business  to  put  you  to  sleep.  Let  me  go  and  tell 
mother  that  her  birdies  are  safe  in  the  nest." 

May  Ca'line  went  back  to  her  own  room  and  soon 
her  son  appeared.  "Did  Gladys  come  in  with  you?" 

"Why,  is  n't  she  here?" 

"No,  I  expected  she  would  come  in  with  you." 

He  gave  a  little  grunt.  "H'm.  The  pavilion  too  fas 
cinating  to  leave  this  afternoon,  probably." 

"What  pavilion?" 

"A  place  for  outdoor  dancing  where  the  girls  like  to 
go  sometimes  in  the  afternoon." 

He  passed  into  the  nursery  for  his  uproarious  wel 
come.  May  Ca'line  stood  in  the  doorway  and  watched 
the  romp,  during  which  her  grandchildren  were  obtain 
ing  an  acrobatic  training. 


230  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Joe  had  found  it  an  economy  of  labor  not  to  brush  his 
hair  until  this  daily  experience  was  passed,  and,  laugh 
ing  now,  he  went  out  through  his  mother's  room  and 
into  his  own. 

As  he  approached  the  chiffonier  and  took  up  his 
brushes  he  saw  a  letter  addressed  to  himself  in  Gladys's 
handwriting.  She  had  probably  gone  out  to  the  suburb 
to  spend  the  night  at  her  mother's. 

He  brushed  his  hair  leisurely,  then  opened  the  letter. 

May  Ca'line  went  downstairs.  The  best  of  Noras 
require  placating  at  times,  and  she  desired  to-night  to 
respond  promptly  to  the  dinner  call,  even  though  the 
mistress  of  the  house  were  tardy.  She  went  into  the 
living-room  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  Joe,  disagreeable 
visions  haunting  her  of  possible  scenes  at  the  dancing 
pavilion  which  were  causing  her  daughter-in-law  to  for 
get  the  time  and  home  duties.  As  she  sat  there  on 
the  divan,  her  head  leaning  back  against  a  pillow,  her 
feet  crossed  before  her,  there  was  a  sudden  sound  of 
swift  steps  on  the  stairs,  and  her  son,  very  pale,  strode 
into  the  room  and,  seating  himself  beside  her,  dropped 
an  open  letter  into  her  lap. 

"I  just  found  this.   Read  it,  mother." 

May  Ca'line,  starting  up  from  her  easy  posture, 
dropped  her  troubled  gaze  from  his  excited  face  to  the 
letter.  It  began  without  preamble:  — 

I  can't  stand  this  any  longer,  Joe,  and  my  mind  is  made 
up.  If  you  love  me  you  conceal  it  and  there  is  another  man 
who  does  love  me  and  shows  it.  I  've  only  got  one  life  to  live 
and  I  want  to  be  loved  as  happy  women  are.  It  is  my  right 
and  I  intend  to  take  it.  It  may  be  that  you  still  care  for  me 
more  than  you  or  I  realize  and  I  'm  going  to  give  you  a  chance. 
I  am  still  your  wife.  I've  never  done  anything  that  the  world 
calls  wicked.  You  're  a  good,  plodding  boy.  I  want  to  do  you 


AT  SUNSET  231 

full  justice.  People  would  call  you  a  good  husband.  You 
haven't  any  vices  and  all  you've  earned  you've  spent  on 
your  family,  but  I  can't  stand  our  milk-and-water  existence 
any  longer.  If  you  were  as  crazy  about  me  as  you  were  when 
we  were  married,  I  would  n't  have  any  kick  even  if  we  are 
poor,  but  I'm  sick  of  being  treated  like  a  piece  of  furniture 
when  there's  another  man  who  wants  to  treat  me  like  a  queen. 
So,  as  I  say,  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  chance.  I'm  going  to 
give  you  to-night  to  see  me  and  tell  me  the  truth.  I  shall  be 
at  the  roadhouse,  the  Three  Crows,  until  midnight.  If  you 
are  not  there  by  twelve  o'clock,  I  shall  know  you  agree  to  my 
adopting  any  course  I  please.  If  you  do  come,  it  must  be  in 
the  spirit  in  which  you  came  courting.  If  I  go  back  with 
you,  it  must  be  to  a  new  life.  Your  mother  must  not  live  with 
us.  You  may  wonder  how  I  can  leave  the  children.  She  has 
estranged  them  from  me  and  you  don't  trust  my  care  of 
them.  Her  opinion  is  law  to  you.  If  you  love  me,  you  will 
tell  her  she  must  move. 

I  am  going  to  the  pavilion  now,  but  by  the  time  you  can 
get  to  the  Three  Crows  I  shall  be  there  ready  to  receive  you. 

Every  woman  wants  a  lover  and  I  am  going  to  have  one. 
If  you  can  fill  the  bill,  you  have  the  first  right,  and  no  other 
need  apply.  It  all  lies  with  yourself,  but,  mind  you,  I  accept 
no  imitation.  I  am  going  to  live! 

GLADYS 

When  May  Ca'line  finished  she  looked  into  her  boy's 
pallid  face.  The  line  was  deep  in  his  forehead  and  his 
lips  were  stern. 

Nora  threw  open  the  door  into  the  living-room,  as  a 
sign  that  dinner  was  served. 

"Come  out  and  eat,  dear.  Come  quickly."  May 
Ca'line  spoke  softly  and  rose,  seizing  his  hand.  "You'll 
feel  stronger.  Is  the  place,  that  roadhouse,  faraway?" 

"I'm  not  going,"  said  Joe. 

"My  son,"  exclaimed  May  Ca'line,  "you  are  going!" 

Joe  shook  his  head,  then  rested  it  on  his  hands,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees. 

His  mother  had  grown  as  pale  as  he.    She  looked  at 


HEARTS'  HAVEN 

him  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  moved  quickly  out  to 
the  kitchen  where  Nora  was  startled  at  her  expression. 

"We  have  heard  from  Mrs.  Laird,  and  she  is  in  great 
trouble,  Nora.  Mr.  Laird  is  going  to  get  her  and  bring 
her  home.  I  want  him  to  eat  before  he  leaves.  I  must 
go  back  to  him  now."  She  hurried  out  and  Nora  stood 
staring  after  her,  her  imagination  shrewdly  busy. 

As  May  Ca'line  approached  the  divan  again,  Joe 
looked  up.  His  mother  sat  down  beside  him,  took:  his 
hand,  and  spoke  swiftly  and  softly. 

"That  is  the  reason  why  I  have  insisted  on  staying  in 
your  house,  dear.  I  found  almost  as  soon  as  I  arrived 
that  a  flattering  thief  was  trying  to  steal  your  wife's 
affections,  and  I  felt  I  could  be  some  restraint  upon  him 
by  remaining  in  the  house.  I  did  n't  know  what  to  do. 
I  could  n't  talk  to  you  about  it.  I  don't  know  whether  I 
was  weak  or  strong  not  to,  for  my  heart  was  full  of  sor 
row."  May  Ca'line's  voice  trembled. 

Joe  patted  her  hand.  "You  mean  Bird,  I  suppose," 
he  returned,  memories  returning  to  him.  "Poor 
Gladys,  he's  a  very  cheap  specimen.  She'll  regret  it." 

"  She  will  not  have  a  chance,"  declared  May  Ca'line 
fiercely,  her  tears  dried  suddenly.  "Pull  yourself  to 
gether,  Joe.  Come  and  eat  something  and  hurry  away." 

"I  tell  you  I'm  not  going,"  he  replied  doggedly. 
"Don't  you  understand  this  is  my  way  out?  You 
must  have  seen  a  hundred  times  that  the  greatest  boon 
that  could  come  to  me  would  be  a  way  out." 

"  I  refuse  to  believe  that  my  son  is  a  coward,"  returned 
May  Ca'line.  "I  cannot  believe  that  my  boy  allows 
another  man  to  steal  his  wife." 

"Wait,  mother.  If  I  go  to  the  Three  Crows,  shoot 
Bird  if  he  happens  to  be  there  before  his  date,  and  bring 


AT  SUNSET  233 

Gladys  home,  what  then?  You  don't  seem  to  have 
taken  in  the  terms  of  the  letter.  I  don't  love  her  and  I 
couldn't  cheat  her  into  believing  that  I  did  even  if 
I  tried  my  very  best  night  and  day." 

"Joe,  dear,  I  pity  you,"  declared  his  mother,  her  arm 
suddenly  thrown  about  his  broad  shoulders,  "but  I  see 
as  clear  as  sunlight  what  is  your  duty.  Bring  Gladys 
home.  I  will  disappear  as  far  away  as  she  likes.  Put 
your  mind  on  giving  her  more  diversion,  more  variety, 
more  pretty  clothes.  That  satisfies  a  woman  of  her 
type." 

Joe  shook  his  head.  "No,  she  wants  caresses  and 
flattery.  She  wants  to  be  made  love  to.  I  simply  can't 
do  it.  However  much  I  may  be  disgraced  as  a  husband 
who  could  n't  hold  his  wife,  it  is  an  impossibility." 

May  Ca'line  looked  at  him  steadily.  "You  have 
thought  only  of  yourself  so  far.  Think  of  Bob  and 
Ella." 

"They're  too  young  to  know." 

"My  boy,  school-children  will  tell  them.  They  will 
grow  up  under  a  stigma.  Somewhere  their  mother  will 
be  living  criminally  with  another  man.  Their  lives 
will  be  blighted  by  it.  Can  you  do  that  to  them,  Joe?" 

He  wavered,  bit  his  pale  lips,  then  looked  at  his 
mother  straight.  "There  is  another  factor,"  he  said. 
"  I  love  another  woman." 

"Oh,  my  boy!  Oh!  Oh!"  May  Ca'line  winced  and  a 
spasm  of  pain  passed  over  her  face. 

"  She  does  n't  know  it.  She  never  will.  I  have  n't 
known  it  long,  myself.  I  should  n't  tell  her  if  I  were 
free,  but  it  is  the  greatest  comfort  I  have,  to  love  her, 
and  I  shall  go  on  simply  because  I  can't  help  myself." 

"That  is  beside  the  question,  then.  The  thing  for  you 


234  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

to  do  is  to  go  to  Gladys  to-night,  tell  her  you  have  done 
wrong  in  not  considering  more  her  love  of  diversion. 
Tell  her  that  I  am  going  away  at  once.  Talk  of  the  chil 
dren;  talk  of  the  trip  you  are  going  to  have  together, 
and  tell  her  it  will  be  your  study  to  make  it  a  happy 
one  for  her.  Appeal  to  her  better  feelings.  I  can  see 
now  how  I  have  been  an  irritation  here.  Her  very  dis 
courtesy  to  me  has  kept  her  in  a  bad  mental  atmos 
phere.  After  you  bring  her  back,  a  few  words  from  you 
to  Mr.  Bird  will  frighten  him  away  in  future,  and,  oh, 
Joe,  you  '11  be  doing  right.  If  you  let  twelve  o'clock  to 
night  come  and  pass  without  an  effort  to  redeem  that 
poor  girl  from  a  fatal  mistake,  you  will  be  committing 
a  sin  against  God,  against  your  children,  and  against 
their  mother  and  yours.  Don't  refuse  me,  Joe.  To 
morrow  will  be  too  late  and  to-morrow  you  will  wish 
you  had  listened  to  the  voice  of  conscience." 

"I  don't  hear  any,"  returned  Joe  dully,  "but  —  but 

I'll  go." 

"Come  and  eat  something,  dear  child,"  said  May 
Ca'line  tenderly.  "There  is  time.  It  is  only  seven- 
thirty  now." 

"  I  can't  eat,"  he  answered.  He  rose  slowly,  went  into 
the  hall,  and  with  no  farewell  took  his  hat  and  went  out 
into  the  summer  evening. 

May  Ca'line,  biting  her  lips  to  check  their  trembling, 
and  with  tears  coursing  down  her  cheeks,  picked  up  the 
fallen  letter  and  read  it  through  again. 

Joe  Laird  felt  like  one  moving  in  a  dream.  The  only 
motive  power  of  which  he  was  conscious  was  his  moth 
er's  will.  He  boarded  a  street-car  and  as  it  crashed  and 
ground  along  the  rails  he  tried  to  formulate  what  he 
would  say  to  his  wife  when  he  reached  her,  but  as  in  a 


AT  SUNSET  235 

nightmare  his  mind  refused  to  work.  Just  one  sentence 
repeated  itself  over  and  over.  "I  can't  let  you  do  this, 
Gladys.  I  can't  let  you  do  this,  Gladys."  Beyond  that 
his  imagination  would  not  go. 

At  one  point  the  car  stopped  and  a  couple  of  gayly 
dressed,  laughing  girls  got  on.  One  of  them  descried  him 
and  paused  on  her  way  to  a  seat. 

"Hello,  Joe,"  she  said.  "Why  don't  you  get  off  early 
any  more  and  come  over  to  the  pavilion?  Better  look 
out  for  Gladys.  We  left  her  drinking  a  highball  with  a 
handsomer  man."  She  giggled  gayly. 

His  brain  cleared  instantly.  This  girl  represented 
Gladys's  world.  An  instinct  for  her  defense  sprang  up 
within  him. 

"Yes,  we  have  a  date,"  he  answered;  "I'm  on  my 
way  to  meet  her  now." 

The  girl  nodded  and  passed  on.  "Joe  Laird  is  a  sick- 
looking  man  to  me,"  she  said  to  her  companion.  "I 
should  think  Gladys  would  be  worried  about  him." 

Joe  began  to  think  of  the  children  who  adored  him; 
of  all  the  explanations  that  would  have  to  be  made  to 
them  as  they  grew  older,  and  of  what  his  mother  had 
said  of  blighted  lives.  He  began  again  and  with  more 
success  to  plan  what  he  would  say  to  Gladys  —  Gladys 
drinking  highballs  in  a  public  place  with  Henry  Bird. 
Physical  nausea  beset  him  as  he  left  the  car  at  the  point 
nearest  his  destination.  He  had  been  too  busy  at  noon 
to  go  out  for  lunch  and  his  misery  took  the  form  of 
faintness,  against  which  he  strove.  Gladys  had  called 
him  a  plodding  man.  He  plodded  now,  every  step  an 
effort,  in  the  direction  of  the  popular  roadhouse.  As 
he  reached  the  boulevard  on  which  it  was  situated, 
motors  in  a  stream  began  to  pass  before  him. 


236  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

In  one  of  the  open  cars  he  thought  he  recognized 
Henry  Bird  with  a  veiled  woman  beside  him,  but  a  large 
limousine  intervened  and  the  smaller  car  was  speeding, 
barely  avoiding  other  machines. 

In  the  distance  now  he  saw  the  gateway  to  the  Three 
Crows,  its  colored  bulbs  already  burning,  although  the 
twilight  had  not  waned.  Their  lights  looked  garish 
against  a  delicate  primrose  sky. 

A  snarl  of  vehicles  seemed  suddenly  to  gather  ahead 
of  him.  Joe  heard  a  sharp  impact,  heard  women's 
shrieks  above  the  din  of  horns,  and  a  crowd  was  gather 
ing  before  he  could  reach  the  spot. 

When  he  arrived  he  pushed  his  way  through  the 
group  of  men  who  had  left  the  cars  in  which  women  sat 
leaning  out,  and  staring,  with  pale  faces.  He  saw  a 
runabout  half-crushed,  and  Henry  Bird,  bareheaded 
and  white  as  death,  holding  a  dangling  right  arm  with 
his  left  hand,  and  pushing  with  the  others  toward  a 
woman,  prostrate  beside  one  of  the  stone  posts  which 
guarded  and  ornamented  the  grounds  of  the  resort. 

Joe  worked  his  way  toward  the  center  of  the  group.  A 
man  was  leaning  over  Gladys,  his  hand  above  her  heart. 
Joe  recognized  Adam  Breed's  physician,  the  famous 
Dr.  Burchard.  The  latter  looked  up,  saw  Joe,  and 
nodded  recognition. 

"Very  sad,"  he  said.  "Concussion.  It  was  instan 
taneous.  She  is  gone."  Gently  he  pressed  the  eyelids 
over  the  half-closed  eyes.  "Why,  what's  the  matter, 
boy?  You're  ill!" 

Joe  fell  on  his  knees  beside  the  calm,  sleeping  face. 
He  took  one  of  Gladys's  hands  and  with  the  other 
gripped  that  of  the  physician.  "Help  me,  doctor,"  he 
uttered  chokingly;  "this  is  my  wife." 


AT  SUNSET  237 

"My  boy!  Don't  give  way."  Dr.  Burchard's  firm 
grasp  on  Joe's  hand  did  not  relax  as  an  eager  reporter 
pushed  through  the  crowd.  The  rumor  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth  that  the  husband  of  the  dead  woman 
was  beside  her. 

Joe  felt  the  paramount  necessity  of  speaking.  He  rose 
and  addressed  the  physician  in  a  tone  those  nearest 
could  hear. 

"My  wife  sent  word  asking  me  to  meet  her  here.  One 
of  our  friends  brought  her  in  his  car."  His  throat  closed. 
The  reporter  wrote  fast. 

Some  one  called:  "Dr.  Burchard,  the  living  needs 
you.  There  is  a  man  here  with  a  broken  arm." 

All  that  occurred  after  that  passed  like  a  dream  to 
Joe.  Everybody  obeyed  Dr.  Burchard  who  dispersed 
the  crowd,  satisfied  the  reporter,  sent  Henry  Bird  to  a 
hospital  for  treatment,  and  attended  to  the  necessary 
formalities  following  the  accident.  Joe  remained  beside 
him  during  all,  obedient  to  each  necessity,  his  face  stiff 
and  expressionless. 

May  Ca'line  at  home  was  waiting  in  a  misery  of  inde 
cision.  Would  it  be  better  for  her  to  be  out  of  the  house 
when  they  came  home?  If  she  could  only  call  Mrs. 
Chetwyn,  but  how  could  she  explain  over  the  tele 
phone  ?  Idleness  was  impossible.  At  last  it  occurred  to 
her  that  she  might  pack  her  trunk.  She  went  upstairs 
and  Nora  could  hear  her  pull  the  venerable  box  over  the 
floor. 

Nora  was  piecing  things  together.  She  had  urged 
May  Ca'line  to  eat,  but  in  vain,  and  the  little  woman 
had  not  attempted  to  conceal  from  her  that  they  were 
in  deep  and  grave  trouble,  but  she  did  not  explain. 
Nora  did  not  consider  that  the  situation  required  any 


238  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

explanation.  The  catastrophe  had  arrived,  that  was 
all.  Her  mistress  had  run  away. 

"I  could  choke  that  Bir-rd  wid  me  two  hands,"  she 
muttered  to  herself,  "and  I  hope  Mr.  Laird '11  ketch 
him  and  do  it  himself." 

When  one  long  hour  had  passed,  then  two  hours,  and 
the  deep  silence  in  the  house  was  at  last  broken  by  the 
dragging  of  the  trunk,  Nora  ran  upstairs.  Her  heart 
had  been  yearning  over  May  Ca'line  ever  since  her  son 
went  out,  but  she  had  forborne  from  intruding  upon 
her. 

"What  are  ye  doin',  mum?"  she  asked,  looking  in  at 
May  Ca'line's  open  door. 

"Packing,  Nora." 

"Sure,  are  ye  goin'  away?" 

"Yes."  May  Ca'line's  breath  caught  nervously. 
"I've  stayed  here  too  long.  I'm  going  some  place 
where  I  will  be  a  quite  near  neighbor  and  it  will  be  bet 
ter  all  around.  All  young  wives  like  their  homes  to  them 
selves.  I  don't  feel  strange  in  the  city  any  longer,  you 
see.  I  shall  be  quite  happy,  and  I  thought  it  might  be 
a  comfort  to  Mrs.  Laird  when  she  comes  in  to-night 
to  know  that  I'm  all  ready  to  go  to-morrow.  I  long, 
Nora,"  —  May  Ca'line  fought  with  rising  tears,  —  "I 
long  to  take  her  in  my  arms  and  tell  her  that  I  've  made 
a  mistake  and  that  I  want  every  minute  of  her  life  to  be 
happy." 

As  May  Ca'line  talked  she  was  pulling  open  the 
drawers  in  the  closet  and  taking  out  their  meager  con 
tents.  On  the  bed  lay  the  boxes  from  the  department 
store  containing  the  specimens  of  Leacock  dressmaking 
and  millinery  which  had  been  left  there  this  morning 
when  the  silken  butterfly  emerged  from  its  chrysalis. 


AT  SUNSET  239 

"Well,  mum,  ye  must  do  what  ye  think  right,"  said 
Nora,  sniffing  dolefully  and  beginning  to  help  fold  the 
garments,  "but 't  will  be  sore  here  widout  ye  and  Mrs. 
Laird  will  be  no  better  of  it.  She  is  n't  — " 

A  noise  down  in  the  hall  interrupted. 

"They've  come!"  exclaimed  May  Ca'line.  "Make 
some  fresh  tea,  will  you,  Nora,  and  did  you  slice  the 
meat?" 

"Sure,  it's  all  ready,"  replied  the  girl.  "I'd  like  to 
know  what's  happened  to  Bir-rd?"  she  thought  vindic 
tively. 

May  Ca'line  hurried  into  the  hall,  and  looking  over 
the  banisters  saw  her  son  below. 

"Take  Gladys  into  the  dining-room,  dear,"  she  said, 
her  voice  tremulous.  "Your  supper  is  all  ready." 

He  looked  up.  "Gladys  is  n't  here,  mother,"  he  an 
swered  heavily. 

The  strength  went  out  of  May  Ca'line's  knees. 
Gladys  had  refused  to  come.  Joe  had  not  managed  it 
in  the  right  way. 

She  ran  downstairs  and  into  his  arms. 

"My  child,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him,  held  in  a 
close  embrace,  "you  were  not  urgent  enough.  Joe,  you 
must  n't  take  no  for  an  answer.  You  must  go  back, 
dear.  You  must  go  back  at  once." 

He  shook  his  head,  gazing  gravely  into  her  troubled 
eyes. 

"Gladys  will  never  come,"  he  said  slowly.  "There 
has  been  a  terrible  accident,  but  she  did  n't  suffer; 
the  doctor  says  she  did  n't  know." 

As  Joe  spoke  he  shivered  as  if  with  a  chill.  May 
Ca'line's  heart  seemed  to  stand  still  as  she  studied  his 
face. 


240  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Come  in  here,  dear."  She  led  him  into  the  living- 
room  and  made  him  lie  down  on  the  divan.  Little  by 
little  he  told  her  how  a  hilarious  party  had  sped  in  their 
motor  out  of  the  gate  of  the  roadhouse  and  how  Henry 
Bird,  himself  unfit  to  drive,  had  skidded  on  some  slip 
pery  mud  and  crashed  into  the  other  car.  He  told  her 
how  Dr.  Burchard  had  taken  care  of  every  detail;  how 
he  had  prepared  for  the  inquest  to-morrow,  and  brought 
him  home  just  now  in  his  own  car. 

May  Ca'line  held  her  boy's  hand  and  her  delicate  lips 
set  firmly. 

"What  happened  to  Mr.  Bird?"  she  asked. 

"His  arm  was  broken.  I  was  able  to  say  that  Gladys 
had  planned  to  meet  me  there  and  that  a  friend  had 
taken  her  in  his  machine.  It  will  all  be  in  the  paper  to 
morrow.  I  believe  I  thought  of  everything.  Even  Dr. 
Burchard  suspected  nothing  irregular.  Oh  —  I  'm  tired, 
mother." 

May  Ca'line  rose  and  went  out  to  bring  food.  She 
told  Nora  briefly  what  had  occurred.  The  girl  crossed 
herself.  "The  poor  soul!"  she  exclaimed.  In  a  shocked 
silence  they  prepared  the  tray  and  May  Ca'line  sat  be 
side  her  son  into  the  morning  hours,  nearly  all  the  time 
in  silence.  He  held  her  hand  constantly  and  once  he 
kissed  it. 

The  next  few  days  were  full  of  evidences  of  Adam 
Breed's  regard  for  his  secretary.  Dr.  Burchard  had 
telephoned  him  at  once,  and  the  next  morning  found 
him  at  Joe's  house.  One  thing  he  could  not  prevent  and 
that  was  the  gathering  of  Gladys's  clan.  Her  immediate 
family  had  been  far  from  satisfied  with  Gladys  in  life, 
but  now  all  her  lapses  and  inattention  were  forgotten  in 
the  dreadful  shock  of  her  loss.  They  hung  upon  Joe  and 


AT  SUNSET  241 

swept  over  him,  trying  to  voice  consolation,  yet  some 
what  awed  by  his  stony  quiet. 

May  Ca'line  received  them  gently,  but  when  she 
suggested  to  Gladys's  mother  that  perhaps  it  would  be 
best  for  the  children  not  to  look  upon  the  lost  one  in 
her  last  sleep,  that  lady  burst  forth  in  indignant  tears. 

"Of  course,  they  shall  look  at  her!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Would  you  deprive  them  of  such  a  sacred  sorrow? 
She  never  looked  more  lovely.  My  beautiful,  beautiful 
daughter.  Oh,  poor  Joe,  what  a  loss  is  his!  When  I 
think  of  his  agony  it  helps  me  .to  bear  my  own." 

On  the  morning  of  the  funeral  this  other  grandmother, 
of  whom  the  twins  had  never  had  much  knowledge,  took 
them  by  the  hand  to  the  side  of  their  mother's  casket. 
Gifts  of  flowers  had  been  lavish  and  there  were  banks  of 
them  on  every  side. 

"But  won't  she  ever  wake  up?"  asked  Bob,  gazing 
with  awestruck  eyes  at  the  sleeping  one. 

His  grandmother  sobbed.  "Each  of  you  shall  put  a 
flower  in  her  hand,"  she  gasped,  and  lifted  them  one 
after  the  other  until  they  placed  their  blossoms. 

"Will  she  give  them  to  God?"  asked  Ella,  shivering 
at  the  cold  touch. 

"  I  want  her  to  wake  up,"  said  Bob,  beginning  to  cry. 

"Oh,  poor  children,  poor  children,"  sobbed  their 
grandmother,  "your  mother  is  gone  and  the  grave  will 
close  over  her.  Poor  little  ones,  you  have  lost  your 
mother,  lost  her  forever." 

Ella  joined  her  brother  now  in  loud  lamentation,  and 
taking  his  hand  they  broke  away  from  the  weeping 
one's  embraces  and  rushed  upstairs  to  May  Ca'line,  who 
soothed  them  as  best  she  might.  She  wished  to  be  at 
peace  in  all  ways  with  Gladys's  relatives  and  Joe  helped 


242  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

her  by  keeping  the  children  with  him  throughout  the 
services. 

At  last  the  sad  day  came  to  a  close.  The  last  tears  had 
been  shed,  the  last  farewells  said,  the  last  neighbor  gone. 
Even  the  Breeds  and  Mrs.  Chetwyn  had  departed. 

Little  Bob,  with  his  dark  good  looks  so  like  his 
mother,  had  keener  feeling  than  his  sister.  The  emo 
tional  scene  of  the  morning  clung  to  him.  The  four  were 
at  supper  together  when  he  voiced  one  of  many  ques 
tions  in  his  heart. 

"Grandmother,  won't  mother  ever  wake  up?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,  indeed,  dear,  and  where  she  has  gone  Love  is 
waiting  for  her." 

"I'm  glad,"  said  Bob,  his  lips  quivering. 

"And  such  wonderful  teachers  as  she  will  find;  better 
than  any  here." 

"She  was  cross  a  lot  of  times,"  remarked  Ella,  eating 
busily. 

"We  all  need  teachers,"  said  May  Ca'line,  "for  one 
thing  or  another.  Some  people  don't  find  the  right  ones 
in  this  world.  We  shall  all  have  to  try  to  be  very  good 
and  learn  all  we  can,  for  your  dear  mother  will  be  learn 
ing,  and  learning  fast,  the  good  things  God  wants  us  to 
know." 

Joe  Laird  met  the  speaker's  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  so 
full  of  understanding  and  love. 

"Yes,  we  must  help  each  other,"  he  said  gravely. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AT  THE  SEA 

THE  morning  after  the  funeral  the  little  family  of 
four  began  the  new  chapter  by  breakfasting  to 
gether.  Mr.  Breed  had  told  Joe  to  stay  at  home  with  his 
children  to-day.  The  middle  of  the  morning  a  limousine 
stopped  before  the  door  and  he  left  it  and  came  in. 

May  Ca'line  had  done  something  to  the  living-room, 
he  suspected,  something  in  the  way  of  elimination.  At 
any  rate,  it  had  a  different  aspect  from  that  which  he 
remembered. 

She  came  to  meet  him  in  the  blue-sprigged  muslin, 
and  her  subdued  welcome  was  sincere.  "  I  want  you  to 
know,"  she  said,  "how  much  Joe  and  I  appreciate  the 
many  rough  places  you  have  smoothed  for  us  in  the  last 
days." 

"Trifles,"  returned  Mr.  Breed,  remarking  her  lan 
guor  of  look  and  manner,  while  she  remarked  his  cool 
and  elegant  garb  and  appearance.  "I  came  to  see  if  I 
could  n't  take  you  all  to  Rose  Ledge  for  the  day." 

"Thank  you  for  the  thought.  Joe  is  outdoors  with  the 
children.  We  have  a  shady  back  yard  and  it  is  popular 
in  the  morning.  I  will  send  for  him." 

She  left  the  room  and  gave  the  word  to  Nora,  and  her 
son  soon  appeared. 

"How  are  you,  Joe,  my  boy?"  said  Mr.  Breed  as  the 
two  men  met  and  shook  hands. 

Since  the  catastrophe  his  employer  had  addressed 
him  by  his  Christian  name  for  the  first  time  and  the 


244  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

young  man  noted  it.  "What  would  you  say  to  a  trip 
en  famille  out  to  Rose  Ledge  for  luncheon  ?  It  is  very 
cool  and  pleasant  driving."  As  he  spoke  Adam  Breed 
observed  with  compassion  the  marks  of  shock  and 
strain  in  his  secretary's  face. 

"Would  you  mind  taking  the  others  and  leaving 
me?"  returned  Joe.  "I'm  not  fit  company  for  people 
to-day." 

His  mother  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"Vivian  sent  a  most  particular  and  cordial  invita 
tion,"  said  Mr.  Breed. 

"I  thank  her  very  much,"  said  Joe,  "but  I  think  I 
would  better — "  He  paused. 

"All  right,  boy.  I  understand.  Will  you  come,  May, 
and"  —  the  speaker  cleared  his  throat  for  heroic  effort 
—  "and  bring  the  children?" 

"I  don't  think  I  could.  Will  you  tell  your  dear 
daughter  how  much  we  appreciate  her  thought,  but 
that  we  are  just  tired  enough  and  dull  enough,  Joe  and 
I,  not  to  want  to  inflict  ourselves  on  any  one  for  a  few 
days." 

"Would  you  inflict  yourself  on  Ferdy  for  ten  min 
utes?" 

May  Ca'line  hesitated.  "Perhaps  I  could  come  for  a 
little  while  this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Breed  smiled  and  shook  his  head,  motioning  with 
his  thumb  over  his  shoulder.  "I  mean  right  now.  He 
has  come  to  look  you  up.  He  is  out  in  the  car." 

With  a  little  exclamation  of  pleasure  May  Ca'line 
hurried  from  the  room.  The  neighbors,  who  saw  every 
thing,  saw  her  approach  the  limousine,  whose  peculiar 
appearance  had  already  excited  their  curiosity.  A  large 
man  dressed  in  white  occupied  the  seat  beside  the 


AT  THE  SEA  245 

chauffeur,  and  the  curtains  were  drawn  close  over  the 
windows.  . 

Hansen,  the  moment  he  saw  May  Ca'line,  jumped 
out  and  held  open  the  door.  She  entered  it  and  he 
closed  it  behind  her. 

"How  good  of  you  to  come  to  see  me,  Ferdy!" 

"How  good  of  you  to  come  out!"  he  answered.  "I 
want  you  to  know,  and  your  son,  too,  how  cut  up  I've 
been  about  this  terrible  thing." 

"And  we  want  you  to  know  how  we  loved  the  flowers 
you  sent,  Ferdy.  I  appreciated  my  name  being  on  them 
and  I  did  n't  send  them  away  with  the  others,  but  placed 
them  in  my  room  where  they  have  kept  speaking  to  me 
of  you." 

Ferdy  drew  a  long  breath.  "I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done  without  Mrs.  Chetwyn,  I've  missed 
you  so." 

"Oh,  Ferdy,  tell  me!  You  know  there  is  nothing  you 
can  say  to  comfort  me  so  much  as  to  tell  me  that 
you  begin  to  see  the  truth  Mrs.  Chetwyn  knows: 
that  you  begin  to  feel  her  help." 

"I  do,"  he  answered.  "There  is  n't  a  doubt  of  it.  I 
did  n't  wear  the  bandage  at  all  yesterday.  I  did  n't 
quite  have  the  nerve  to  come  out  into  the  daylight 
without  it  this  morning." 

"I  could  weep  for  joy!"  exclaimed  May  Ca'line. 

"You're  all  too  good  to  me,"  said  the  boy.  "Dad  was 
so  happy  over  my  improvement  yesterday  that  it  made 
me  ashamed  of  my  chronic  grouch.  I  did  n't  tell  him, 
Mrs.  Laird,  because  I  did  n't  want  to  raise  his  hopes 
and  then  have  them  dashed,  but  after  Mrs.  Chetwyn's 
third  visit  the  numbness  in  my  back  that  has  made  me 
so  nervous,  disappeared.  I  don't  know  what  it  means, 


246  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

but  I  can  feel  my  back  against  the  pillow  today.  Just 
supposing  it  is  the  truth  and  that  I'm  going  to  walk 
again."  His  lips  twitched. 

"My  dear,  my  dear!"  said  May  Ca'line,  pressing  his 
hand  between  both  her  own.  "Can  you  doubt  it?  I 
don't.  I'm  very  thankful  you  have  Mrs.  Chetwyn  to 
visit  you  now,  and  some  day  you  will  see  me  running 
back—" 

"Not  immediately?"  interrupted  Ferdy  regretfully, 

"I  can't  tell  you  just  yet.  An  earthquake  has  shaken 
our  little  home  and  my  first  duty  is  here  until  we  can 
feel  somewhat  settled  again  and  until  Joe  does  n't  need 
me  all  the  time." 

"Poor  Laird;  I  tell  you  I  realize  how  broken  up  he 
must  be,"  returned  the  boy,  and  May  Ca'line  knew  it 
was  good  for  him  to  think  of  another.  "Remember  me 
to  him,  please.  I  'd  ask  for  him  to  come  to  see  me,  but 
I  should  n't  know  what  to  say  to  him  if  he  did.  When 
a  fellow  is  hit  by  a  cannon  ball  words  don't  do  any  good." 

"  But  love  does,  Ferdy.  It  will  do  Joe  good  to  "know 
that  you  are  thinking  about  him  and  I  shall  tell  him." 

Hansen  here  opened  the  door  of  the  car  and  Mr.  Breed 
approached. 

"  I  have  n't  mentioned  my  plan  for  the  day  to  Ferdy," 
he  said.  "I'll  tell  him  going  home,  and  the  way  you've 
turned  me  down."  He  smiled  as  he  took  May  Ca'line's 
hand  and  helped  her  out.  "Joe  will  tell  you  of  the  talk 
we  have  just  been  having." 

A  brief  farewell  and  the  car  rolled  away.  May  Ca'line 
found  her  boy  waiting  for  her  in  the  living-room. 

"I  never  dreamed  that  Mr.  Breed  could  be  so  hu 
man,"  he  said,  drawing  his  mother  down  beside  him  on 
the  divan.  "He  behaves  like  a  changed  being.  Did  you 


AT  THE  SEA  247 

hear  him  call  me  4  Joe '  ?  He  has  never  addressed  me  in 
formally  once  in  the  years  I  have  been  with  him  until 
this  lightning  stroke  came." 

"  I  'm  sorry  we  could  n't  accept  that  lovely  girl's 
kindness,"  returned  May  Ca'line. 

Her  son  met  her  wistful  eyes  steadily.  "Can't  you 
possibly  guess  why  I  could  n't  —  why  I  did  n't  wish  to?" 

They  regarded  each  other  silently  for  a  full  minute. 

"Oh!"  said  May  Ca'line,  and  beyond  the  soft  ex 
clamation  said  nothing. 

"I  did  wish  that  you  could  go,  mother,  for  you  look 
like  a  wilted  flower  this  morning,  and  you  would  have 
gloried  in  the  air  and  sunshine  and  gone  wild  over  that 
splendid  place,  and  come  back  revived  and  crisp.  How 
ever,  Mr.  Breed  has  fixed  that  all  right.  We  are  to  have 
our  vacation  now  instead  of  a  week  hence."  Joe  put  his 
arm  around  her  and  met  her  eyes.  "Mother,  I'm 
happy  with  you,"  he  said. 

"And  I  thank  God  that  I  can  be  with  you,"  she 
answered. 

"The  plan  is  all  made,"  went  on  Joe.  "Mr.  Breed  has 
been  wonderful.  He  has  already  engaged  a  cottage  for 
us  near  the  hotel  at  Breakers  Beach.  We're  to  go 


to-morrow." 


"Why,  Joe,  you  take  my  breath  away.  Is  n't  it  the 
sort  of  place  where  I  shall  have  to  wear  my  afternoon 
dress  in  the  morning,  my  evening  dress  in  the  after 
noon,  and  go  to  bed  in  the  evening?" 

"No,  it's  a  rather  democratic  place,  because  it's  near 
enough  to  the  city  for  people  to  commute  and  it's  rather 
crowded  and  simple,  but  if  we  have  a  cottage  and  the 
ocean  we  can  keep  to  ourselves." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  fine!"  said  May  Ca'line,  clasping 


248  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

her  hands  in  childlike  delight.  "Can  Nora  stay  here 
alone,  though?" 

"No;  we'll  send  Nora  off  for  her  vacation,  too,  and 
come  back"  —  Joe  drew  a  long  breath  —  "come  back, 
all  of  us  made  over,  I  hope,  and  begin  fresh." 

A  busy  day  of  packing  ensued  and  the  first  smile  that 
had  visited  Joe's  lips  for  many  a  day  was  elicited  by  the 
sight  of  his  mother's  antiquated  trunk.  In  a  few  hours 
a  spick-and-span  new  one  made  its  appearance  with 
May  Ca'line's  initials  shining  on  the  side. 

At  noon  the  next  day  they  were  all  ready  to  start. 
The  neighbors  on  each  side  promised  to  have  an  eye  to 
possible  marauders.  Nora  was  to  do  the  last  locking  up 
and  then  hie  away  to  her  sister. 

The  twins,  overcome  by  the  magnitude  of  the  pro 
posed  outing,  each  armed  with  a  pail  and  shovel  and 
certain  of  daddy's  prolonged  companionship,  were  se 
raphic  in  their  docile  behavior,  and  to  the  end  of  their 
lives  remembered  that  day  of  departure.  The  trip  was 
made  by  boat.  The  alternative  to  kind,  all-powerful 
daddy  was  a  gentle  and  resourceful  grandmother,  al 
ways  ready  to  listen  to  them  and  considerate  of  their 
wishes.  No  impatient  word  or  jerk  awaited  their  ac 
tions.  The  water  was  blue,  music  was  playing.  In  their 
infantile  capacity  to  appreciate,  it  was  a  day  of  com 
plete  festival. 

For  two  weeks  the  holiday  lasted.  Each  morning 
before  breakfast  the  four  dressed  in  their  cottage  and 
ran  down  to  the  sea  for  a  dip.  May  Ca'line  wanted  to 
get  their  breakfast  at  home,  but  Joe  informed  her  that 
it  was  against  the  rule  for  her  to  do  any  work;  so 
they  leisurely  progressed  to  the  neighboring  hotel  and 
ate,  sometimes  on  a  veranda  and  sometimes  in  the  great 
dining-room. 


AT  THE  SEA  249 

The  children  had  not  turned  into  saints,  but  incipient 
quarrels  never  went  far  in  daddy's  presence  and  they 
found  that  the  free  hand  their  grandmother  now  pos 
sessed  was  as  firm  as  it  was  gentle.  Ungentle  methods 
were  absolutely  prohibited;  and  May  Ca'line's  inborn 
sympathy  with  and  understanding  of  the  young,  and 
her  self-control,  made  her  able  to  bring  back  their  little 
feet  to  the  right  path  without  storms,  whenever  they 
strayed.  Nature's  illimitable  sand-pile  was  their  joy 
and  they  were  never  tired  of  digging  their  bare  feet  into 
the  warm  depths  of  it. 

One  day  Joe  was  coming  back  from  aiding  the  young 
sters  to  build  a  dam  to  hold  water  from  incoming  rollers, 
when  he  saw  a  wind-blown  figure  coming  across  the 
beach.  His  heart  leaped  to  his  throat.  The  girl  came 
on  toward  him,  smiling.  He  hastened  forward. 

"How  did  you  get  here,  Miss  Breed,  and  what  are 
you  doing?" 

She  put  her  gloved  hand  in  his  sea-washed  one.  "We 
came  in  the  motor  and  I'm  hunting  for  you.  Daddy  is 
up  at  the  cottage  with  your  mother.  We  thought  we 
could  have  tea  with  you  and  get  back  to  town  by  moon 
light."  Her  voice  was  joyous  and  her  gaze  direct.  "How 
tanned  you  are!  How  well  you  look!  So  does  your 
mother." 

"  It  has  been  great  for  us  all,"  returned  Joe,  running 
his  hand  through  his  short  hair  which  the  wind  had  set 
on  end.  "Ten  days  have  passed  at  hurricane  speed.  I 
suppose  there  is  plenty  of  speed,  too,  at  Rose  Ledge." 

"Yes,  we  have  been  having  a  gay  time.  Don't  I  look 
extra  happy?"  She  did,  indeed,  look  so  brilliant  that 
again  that  heart  of  Joe's  started  throatward. 

"Break  it  to  me  gently,"  he  said,  smiling  bravely. 


250  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"Oh,  it's  never  a  man,"  she  laughed.  The  soft  salt 
wind,  the  sparkling  sea,  and  the  presence  that  was  often- 
est  in  her  thought  combined  to  make  her  feel  as  if  walk 
ing  on  air.  "It  is  a  boy,  though  —  Ferdy.  He  is  so 
much  better." 

"Is  it  a  fact?"  returned  Joe  eagerly. 

"Indeed  it  is.  Mrs.  Chetwyn  has  won  his  complete 
interest  and  confidence.  Father  says  it  is  that,  but  I 
don't  think  so.  It  is  more  than  that.  He  steps,  Mr. 
Laird.  Ferdy  steps  with  a  cane." 

"Hurrah!"  exclaimed  Joe. 

"  I  don't  understand  it  very  well,  but  I  mean  to  try. 
The  idea  is  that  material  things,  the  body,  is  never 
cause.  Spirit  is  all  cause,  and  spirit  is  God,  hence,  of 
course,  all-powerful." 

Joe  nodded.  "My  mother  seems  to  have  grasped 
the  idea.  She  has  talked  to  me  about  it  every  evening 
since  we  have  been  here  and  she  has  read  to  me  a  lot. 
IVe  always  found  that  my  mother  thought  pretty 
straight." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  have  her,  Mr.  Laird."  The  girl's 
eyes,  full  of  innocence  and  sincerity,  looked  straight 
into  his. 

"Yes,  there's  nobody  like  her,"  he  returned. 

"I  did  n't  know  how  Ferdy  would  endure  her  leaving 
him,  but  Mrs.  Chetwyn  says  that  Love  is  always  taking 
care  of  us,  and  certainly  she  was  raised  up  for  Ferdy, 
and,  you  see,  your  mother  did  even  that.  Mrs.  Chetwyn 
comes  and  sits  with  him  every  day  and  reads  to  him; 
reads  the  Bible  a  great  deal.  Just  think  of  it,  and  Ferdy 
likes  it!  Mrs.  Chetwyn  is  jolly,  too,  the  best  kind  of 
company.  I  was  just  telling  your  mother  that  she  has 
a  rival,  and  she  did  n't  show  the  least  bit  of  jealousy, 


AT  THE  SEA  251 

but  rejoiced  and  rejoiced.  She  and  daddy  are  having 
a  regular  love  feast."  The  two  were  moving  slowly 
across  the  sand  toward  the  little  house  as  they  talked. 
"There  they  are  now  on  the  piazza,"  she  added.  "I 
don't  believe  they  have  anywhere  near  exhausted  the 
subject." 

"Mother  is  probably  proselyting  him  at  the  present 
moment,"  remarked  Joe. 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  He  says  his  den  at  home  is 
so  full  of  metaphysics  that  he  wades  in  it  up  to  his  knees 
every  time  he  goes  to  see  Ferdy,  and  after  Mrs.  Chet- 
wyn  talks  to  him  a  few  minutes  he  feels  as  if  he  ought 
to  be  grunting  and  eating  husks.  Dear  old  daddy!  Is  n't 
it  a  beautiful  world,  Mr.  Laird?"  The  girl  turned  to 
Joe  suddenly  and  he  could  hardly  keep  from  clasping 
her  swaying  figure  in  his  arms  there  in  the  broad  light  of 
day  and  before  the  watching  figures  on  the  porch. 

"Daddy!  Daddy!"  rang  through  the  air,  and  Joe 
turned  to  see  the  twinkling  legs  of  the  twins  running  at 
full  speed  toward  him. 

Vivian  turned,  too,  and  smiled  curiously,  watching  the 
swift  approach.  When  Bob  and  Ella  saw  the  pretty  lady 
with  their  father  they  became  for  the  moment  tongue- 
tied,  though  their  legs  lost  none  of  their  celerity.  Vivian 
observed  the  two,  who  had  equally  short  hair  and  were 
dressed  just  alike  in  rompers  from  which  their  bare  legs 
protruded. 

"How  do  you  do,  children?"  she  said.  "How  is  any 
body  going  to  know  which  is  Jack  and  which  is  Jill  ? " 

"We're  not  Jack  and  Jill,"  said  Bob  seriously,  as  they 
came  to  a  standstill,  "but  I'm  the  boy." 

"But  we're  suf-sufferers,"  explained  Ella,  smarting 
under  the  implication  of  inferiority. 


HEARTS9  HAVEN 

The  elders  laughed.  "So  am  I,"  said  Vivian,  stooping 
before  Ella,  who  prepared  stoically  to  be  kissed,  but 
was  n't. 

"Daddy,  daddy,"  said  Bob,  setting  aside  these  un 
important  matters,  "the  dam  broke." 

"Why  did  n't  you  dam  it  again?"  asked  Joe,  giving 
Vivian  the  smile  she  especially  —  oh,  quite  especially 
-  liked. 

"We  can't  without  you,"  said  Ella,  turning  upon 
Vivian  a  significant  stare  which  suggested  effacement. 

"Oh,  well,  we  have  company  now.  Mr.  Breed  is  on 
the  piazza  with  grandmother.  We  are  going  to  have  tea 
out  in  front  of  the  hotel,  so  you  be  good  fellows  and  run 
away." 

"There's  a  boy  down  there  that's  taken  my  shovel," 
said  Bob,  growing  red  at  the  memory  of  outrage.  "He 
says  he  can  do  us  both  —  do  us  both  up." 

"I  kicked  him,"  said  Ella  reminiscently,  "but  he 
kicked  worse." 

"It's  a  darned  shame,"  replied  Joe,  laughing,  "but  I 
can't  attend  to  it  now." 

"I  can,"  said  Vivian.  "You  go  and  see  daddy  and 
I'll  be  back  soon." 

She  set  off,  with  a  child  on  either  side  of  her,  and  Joe, 
looking  after  them  a  moment,  turned  and  went  on 
toward  the  cottage. 

Mr.  Breed  came  down  to  meet  him.  "Vivian  can't 
go  to  play  in  the  sand,"  he  said.  "Does  n't  she  know 
we  have  to  start  home?" 

"She  has  gone  in  the  role  of  Portia  to  try  a  case  and 
rescue  Bob's  shovel.  She  has  been  telling  me  great  news 
of  Ferdy." 

"Yes,  by  Jove,  the  boy  is  getting  up.  Mrs.  Chetwyn 


AT  THE  SEA  253 

does  n't  push  him,  either.  He  is  welcome  to  use  canes 
or  crutches  or  anything  he  wants  to.  It's  the  day  he 
doesn't  want  to  that  we're  looking  forward  to  now. 
I've  just  been  asking  your  mother  if  she  thinks  of  stay 
ing  on  here  after  you  go  back.  She  seems  pretty  firm 
against  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  against  it,"  said  May  Ca'line.  "I'd 
far  rather  be  with  Joe." 

"And  he's  looking  mighty  fit,  too,"  remarked  Mr. 
Breed,  surveying  his  secretary  and  his  ten  days'  coat  of 
bronze. 

"I  feel  fit,"  said  Joe  heartily.  "We  return  next 
Monday." 

Mr.  Breed  nodde"d.  "After  you  come  back  I'll  take 
Vivian  to  the  sea  for  a  while." 

"Not  here,  of  course,"  remarked  Joe.  "We've  had  a 
great  time,  but  trippers  are  thicker  than  lobsters  and 
there  is  no  society  act  being  done  here." 

"No,  this  is  n't  the  sort  of  place,  but  Vivian  begs  off 
from  a  fashionable  spot.  She  pleads  to  be  put  out  to 
grass." 

Joe  nodded.  "I  should  n't  wonder.  Of  course,  there 
are  plenty  of  servants  at  Rose  Ledge,  but  I  fancy  it  is 
no  joke  to  run  the  place,  even  with  a  housekeeper,  and 
the  constant  house-parties  keep  a  hostess  on  the  qui 


vive." 


Mr.  Breed  looked  at  the  speaker  sharply.  "What's 
the  matter?  Has  Vivian  complained?" 

"Far  from  it,  but  she  has  grown  thin." 

"I  don't  notice  it." 

"No,  you  see  her  every  day,  but  I  notice  it.  There's 
a  winter  coming,  too,  you  know.  It  seems  to  me  that 
idea  of  putting  her  out  to  grass  is  a  good  one.  She 


254  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

does  n't  want  to  go  where  she  will  have  to  wear  half 
a  dozen  costumes  a  day." 

Mr.  Breed  looked  off  into  space,  and  as  he  did  so  the 
wind  brought  a  sound  of  shrieks  and  cries  from  the 
beach.  Joe  looked  up,  and  a  sensation  of  nausea  stole 
over  him.  People  were  running  and  shouting.  It 
brought  back  one  sickening  evening. 

The  chief  joy  of  most  picnickers  to  the  beach  from 
the  city  being  to  scream  at  the  onslaught  of  the  powerful 
rollers,  the  present  ebullition  might  signify  hilarity,  but 
the  running  of  all  loiterers  toward  one  point  gave  a 
sinister  suggestion.  His  children  were  there  and  Vivian. 

"I'll  see  what  that  is,"  he  said  briefly,  and  started  off 
on  a  run  toward  the  water. 

May  Ca'line  joined  Mr.  Breed  and  they  followed. 

It  seems  that  the  bully  who  had  taken  away  Bob'f 
shovel  was  a  boy  of  fifteen,  who  had  seen  in  it  a  con 
venient  weapon  for  the  flinging  of  sand  over  the  girls 
and  men  of  his  party,  and  just  as  the  children  had 
pointed  him  out  and  Vivian  was  advancing  to  demand 
the  return  of  the  treasure,  one  of  the  besieged  men, 
whose  smarting  eyes  failed  to  see  the  humorous  side  of 
an  improvised  sandstorm,  and  who  was  unable  to  en 
force  obedience  to  a  command  to  "cut  it  out,"  seized 
the  culprit  by  his  collar  and  trousers  and  threw  him  into 
an  incoming  roller,  expecting  to  see  a  chastened  boy 
flung  up  on  the  beach.  But  the  man's  arms  were  muscu 
lar  and  he  had  reckoned  without  the  undertow.  The 
boy,  crying  frantically  for  help  as  he  emerged,  was  car 
ried  out  by  the  receding  wave,  and  excitement  instantly 
reigned. 

The  bathing-master  was  far  up  the  beach,  the  man 
who  had  administered  the  punishment  waded  distract- 


AT  THE  SEA  255 

edly  into  the  water,  wringing  his  hands  and  calling  upon 
any  one  who  could  swim  to  make  the  rescue. 

Joe  Laird  as  he  approached  saw  the  head  bob  up 
again  far  out  on  a  wave,  and  kicking  off  his  shoes, 
plunged  in. 

Vivian  caught  a  woman  by  the  arm.  "Can't  any  one 
else  here  swim?  Where  is  the  bathing-master?"  she 
demanded. 

"Farther  up  the  beach  where  the  rope  is.  Nobody 
goes  in  here.  It  is  n't  safe." 

Looking  wildly  about  she  saw  a  boy  of  twelve  and 
rushed  up  to  him.  "  Five  dollars  to  you  if  you  bring  the 
bathing-master,"  she  said,  and  he  was  off  like  a  shot. 
She  turned  to  meet  her  father  and  May  Ca'line  who 
had  seen  Joe's  plunge. 

"It  will  be  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Breed  reassuringly, 
but  his  voice  was  excited. 

Vivian  put  an  arm  around  May  Ca'line,  whose  lips 
moved  without  a  sound  emerging,  but  her  eyes  were 
calm  and  bright  as  they  looked  across  the  billows  toward 
the  outgoing  swimmer. 

The  children  clung  to  her.  "It's  the  boy  that  took 
my  shovel,"  said  Bob. 

Mr.  Breed  moved  about  among  the  men.  "Isn't 
there  another  swimmer  here?"  he  asked. 

Dull  denial  and  frightened  tears  met  him. 

They  could  see  now  that  Joe  had  reached  the  boy,  but 
apparently  he  did  not  make  any  effort  to  come  in. 

Vivian  turned  anguished  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the 
bathing-beach.  "They  're  both  weighed  down  with  their 
clothes,"  she  said,  "and  probably  the  boy  is  hanging 
on  him  and  won't  let  him  swim.  Have  you  a  bathing- 
suit,  Mrs.  Laird?  The  children  will  show  me  where." 


256  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

She  ran  swiftly  toward  the  cottage,  and  Mr.  Breed 
returned.  His  frowning  face  betrayed  his  anxiety  and 
May  Ca'line's  exalted  look  amazed  him.  "Where  is 
Vivian?"  he  asked. 

"Gone  for  a  bathing-suit." 

"To  go  in?  Impossible.  I  can't  allow  it.  Why 
does  n't  Joe  turn  and  come  this  way?" 

"He  won't  come  without  the  boy,"  said  May  Ca'line 
softly. 

They  saw  the  breakers  submerge  him  and  then  saw 
his  head  reappear.  They  could  no  longer  perceive  the 
boy.  The  minutes  seemed  hours.  Suddenly  a  light, 
hurrying  footfall  passed  them  at  top  speed  and  a  cheer 
broke  forth  as  the  girlish  figure  plunged  through  a  seeth 
ing,  powerful  roller. 

Mr.  Breed  started.  "She  had  no  right  to  do  that," 
he  said  angrily,  and  strode  to  the  water's  edge,  pale  to 
the  lips.  He  knew  that  Vivian  was  an  expert  swimmer, 
but  gruesome  talk  all  about  him  of  the  undertow  at  this 
tide  and  Joe's  apparent  inability  to  cope  with  it  filled 
him  with  fear. 

He  turned  to  May  Ca'line,  who  stood  in  the  same 
spot,  the  wind  blowing  the  tendrils  of  her  hair  into 
a  sort  of  bright  halo  about  her  face.  He  was  dumb 
before  its  expression  as  she  held  the  clinging  children 
close. 

"Omnipotent!"  she  said  softly. 

Vivian  took  the  waves  with  experienced  deliberation 
and  swam  steadily.  Joe  heard  her  "  hello"  and  watched 
her  progress.  He  was  treading  water  and  striving  with 
the  panic-stricken  dead  weight  that  clung  about  him. 
The  spirit  which  snatched  the  little  shovel  was  not  a 
heroic  one. 


AT  THE  SEA  257 

"You  glorious  girl!"  said  Joe  breathlessly  when  she 
came  near.  "I  was  just  going  to  knock  him  over  the 
head  as  a  last  argument  when  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  you." 

Meanwhile  the  small  boy  in  pursuit  of  five  dollars  had 
startled  the  bathing-master  from  his  rearrangement  of 
some  details  about  the  bathhouses  and  been  left  far 
behind  by  the  long  legs  that  started  running  up  the 
beach.  The  man  was  in  his  bathing-trunks  and  plunging 
into  the  water  he  soon  met  Joe  and  Vivian  in  their  slow 
progress  with  their  burden.  He  pulled  the  boy  onto  his 
back,  and  informing  him  how  to  hold  on  by  his  shoulders 
told  him  that  if  he  choked  him  he  would  be  thrown  off 
into  the  sea.  He  then  left  the  young  people  and  made 
for  the  shore. 

"Don't  try  to  talk,"  said  Vivian.  "I  know  what 
you've  been  through.  Do  you  want  to  put  your  hand 
on  my  shoulder?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  need  to." 

"  I  know  how  heavy  those  clothes  feel,"  said  the  girl 
as  they  swam  slowly  and  steadily. 

"That  was  the  trouble,"  breathlessly.  "His  clothes 
—  and  my  clothes  —  and  he  was  such  a  fool.  What  a 
trump  you  are!" 

"Nobody  up  there  could  swim,"  said  Vivian.  "Don't 
talk." 

They  finally  reached  a  sandbar.  "Let's  wait  here  a 
minute,"  said  Vivian.  "Get  your  breath." 

They  stood  gazing  into  one  another's  eyes. 

"I  never  before  realized  —  what  a  very  handsome 
man  —  that  bathing-master  is,"  said  Joe.  "  I  wonder  — 
how  he  happened  to  come  to  life." 

"I  sent  for  him." 

"You  thought  of  everything." 


258  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Yes,  I  have  human  intelligence  "  —  the  girl  laughed. 
"  Everybody  seemed  paralyzed." 

"Do  you  know  how  I  thank  you?"  For  a  moment 
only  Joe's  hands  rested  on  h£r  shoulders,  but  his  eyes 
clung  longer. 

"Oh,  it  was  great!"  she  answered.  "I  enjoyed  it. 
Now,  then,  shall  it  be  homeward  bound?"  She  slid  into 
the  deep  water,  her  laughing  face  toward  him.  "I'm 
afraid  we  shall  be  late  to  tea." 

Their  people  came  running  to  meet  them.  The 
bathing-master  was  working  over  the  cause  of  all  the 
excitement  who  had  swallowed  enough  sea-water  to 
quench  all  desire  for  beach  parties  for  some  time  to 
come. 

The  small  boy  for  whom  a  fortune  was  awaiting  ap 
proached  Vivian  with  large  eyes. 

"Here,  daddy,  give  this  boy  five  dollars,  please," 
She  laughed  down  at  the  child.  Her  heart  was  singing. 
That  minute  while  they  rested  on  the  sandbar  had  told 
her  much.  "He  has  earned  a  hundred,  but  we  won't 
give  it  to  him,"  she  added,  and  fell  all  wet  and  glistening 
into  May  Ca'line's  outstretched  arms. 

"My  darling  little  girl.  My  darling  little  girl,"  re 
peated  the  mother,  and  Vivian  laughed  as  she  gave  her 
a  damp  embrace. 

"You  need  to  reach  up  to  hug  the  darling  little  girl, 
don't  you?"  she  said  gayly. 

"Now,  no  more  pranks,"  said  Adam  Breed  crisply. 
He  was  still  very  white.  "Up  to  the  house  with  you, 
and  if  there  is  any  hot  tea  in  this  place,  let's  have  it." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AUGUST 

HETTY  WOODWARD  entered  Martha  Berry's 
kitchen  one  morning  without  knocking.  Mrs. 
Berry  turned  from  the  sink  and  faced  her.  When 
Hetty  wore  the  present  expression  and  carried  her  head 
in  front  of  her  body,  Martha  always  assumed  an  ultra- 
calmness  of  demeanor. 

"I  declare,  I  forgot  to  knock,"  said  Hetty.  "You 
was  n't  to  the  store  last  night  or  I  'd  have  showed  you 
the  letter  then.  You  know  I  was  tellin'  you  how  queer  I 
thought  it  was  that  May  Ca'line  never  answered  my 
letter  about  her  house  bein'  bought  and  made  over. 
Well,  you  won't  wonder  when  I  show  you  this." 

Hetty  held  forth  a  newspaper  clipping  and  Mrs.  Berry, 
who  had  n't  yet  spoken,  pulled  her  spectacles  down 
from  the  top  of  her  head  and,  accepting  the  paper,  read 
the  headlines :  — 

FATAL  AUTOMOBILE  ACCIDENT 


Young  Wife  on  Way  to  keep  Appointment  with  her  Husband  at  The 
Three  Crows  Victim  of  Collision 

Then  followed  the  tale,  which  Martha  read,  shaking 
her  head  and  biting  her  lip  with  all  the  pitying  amaze 
ment  Hetty  had  hoped  for. 

"So  now,  you  see,  vampire  or  not,  she's  gone,"  said 
Hetty. 

"'T  was   you   called    her   that,  not   me,"   retorted 


260  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

Martha  with  spirit.  She  was  not  going  to  allow  Hetty 
Woodward  to  implant  pangs  of  conscience  at  this 
juncture  for  unjust  suspicion. 

"Well,    here's   what  May   Ca'line   says,"   returned 
Hetty,  opening  her  letter  and  reading  aloud :  — 


DEAR  HETTY:  — 

When  you  read  enclosed  clipping  you  will  see  that  we  have 
been  through  deep  waters  and  you  will  forgive  my  not  re 
sponding  to  your  letter  with  its  surprising  news  about  the 
old  home. 

Joe  and  the  children  and  I  went  to  the  beach  for  a  couple 
of  weeks  after  the  accident  and  came  back  only  a  few  days 
ago.  We  are  adjusting  ourselves  to  the  new  circumstances  as 
well  as  we  can,  and  I  am  very  thankful  that  I  can  be  with 
him  and  help  him  in  the  dreadful  shock  he  has  had  to  bear. 

Perhaps  you  and  Martha  remember  a  Mr.  Breed  that  was 
in  Leacock  one  season  before  Martha  and  I  were  married 
It  was  a  great  surprise  to  me  to  learn  that  the  very  same  man 
is  now  Joe's  employer.  He  has  risen  to  be  an  important  per 
son  in  the  business  world  and  has  been  very  kind  to  us  in 
our  dreadful  experience.  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  don't 
write  often  now  that  I  have  so  many  new  cares.  I  am  very 
fond  of  the  children  and  accept  the  responsibilities  as  pleasant 
ones.  Always  with  love  to  you  and  Martha. 

As  ever, 

MAY  CAROLINE  LAIRD. 

"There,  what  do  you  think  o'  that?"  demanded 
Hetty.  "If  it  ain't  stranger  'n  fiction  for  her  boy  to  be 
in  his  office,  I'd  like  to  know." 

"It  certainly  is,"  returned  Martha  with  an  interest 
which  encouraged  Hetty  to  further  disclosures. 

They  were  both  sitting  down  by  this  time,  Hetty 
rocking  as  only  she  could  rock,  with  a  risky  abandon 
which  always  strained  Mrs.  Berry's  courtesy  as  hostess. 

"For  pity's  sake,  sit  still,  Het,"  she  said  now,  her 
nerves  somewhat  keyed  up  by  all  she  had  heard. 


AUGUST  261 

Miss  Woodward  obeyed.  "Well,  last  night  I  saw  Mr. 
Frothin'ham.  I  suppose  you  know  the  house  is  about 
finished." 

Mrs.  Berry  nodded. 

"And  he's  givin'  out  his  invitations  for  the  dance 
he's  promised  the  girls  and  boys.  It's  goin'  to  be  grand. 
He 's  taken  the  hall  and  goin'  to  have  it  all  decked  with 
greens  and  he's  goin'  to  have  the  band  — " 

"The  greenest  thing  of  all,"  remarked  Mrs.  Berry. 

"Yes,  he  says  he  hopes  they  know  how  to  play  dance 
music.  Well,  of  course  you  know  all  about  his  plans, 
but  anyway  he  come  into  the  store  last  night  to  invite 
me  and  I  thought 't  was  a  real  good  chance,  and  I  says 
to  him,  '  You  're  from  the  city,  do  you  happen  to  know 
Mr.  Adam  Breed  of  the  X.  &  Y.  Railroad?'  Well,  you 
never  saw  such  a  queer  look  as  he  gave  me.  *  What's 
this  ? '  he  says.  '  I  knew  you  had  a  wonderful  nose,  but 
can  it  be  that  you  smell  a  mouse?'  says  he.  Now,  I 
want  to  know  if  you  ever  heard  such  a  queer  answer 
in  your  life?"  Hetty  rocked  again  as  she  made  the  de 
mand.  Human  nature  demanded  action. 

"No,  I  never  did,"  answered  Martha  Berry  bluntly. 
"What  in  the  world  did  he  mean  by  that?" 

"Well,  I  did  n't  know  but  it  was  some  kind  o'  city 
slang  that  meant  somethin'  different  from  bein'  sus 
picious;  so  I  just  looked  sort  o'  careless  and  I  said, 
'That  ain't  answerin'  me,  Mr.  Frothin'ham.' 

"'That's  so'  says  he.   'Yes,  I  do  know  Mr.  Breed.' 

"'He  lived  here  once  on  a  time,'  says  I,  'and  we're 
interested  in  him.  He's  got  one  of  our  Leacock  boys 
in  his  store.' 

"'You're  tellin'  me  news,'  says  he;  'I  never  knew 
that.' 


262  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"'I  s'pose  he's  married/  says  I,  kind  o'  careless. 

"'Oh,  yes,  he  has  two  children;  his  daughter  is  the 
most  charming  girl  I've  ever  known.'  Right  then 
he  blushed,  Martha.  I  saw  it  as  plain  as  I  see  you. 
Would  n't. it  be  the  greatest  thing  in  life  if  that  home  is 
bein'  fixed  up  for  Adam  Breed's  daughter?" 

Mrs.  Berry's  eyes  were  bright.  "I  always  told  you  he 
was  goin'  to  be  married,"  she  returned.  "What  earthly 
sense  would  there  be  otherwise  in  doin'  what  he  has 
done?  That's  the  mouse!"  she  exclaimed  with  such 
sudden  loudness  that  Hetty  jumped.  "Why,  of  course 
it  is.  When  you  asked  about  Mr.  Breed,  you  see,  he 
thought  you  'd  heard  of  his  engagement  to  the  daughter." 

The  rockers  stopped  now.  There  are  states  of  mind 
which  induce  paralysis. 

"It  takes  you,  Martha,"  said  Hetty,  looking  off, 
plunged  in  deep,  admiring  thought.  "  It  seems  as  if  you 
must  be  right,"  —  she  looked  back  at  her  friend,  — 
"but  it  wasn't  his  engagement  I  was  thinkin'  about 
at  all.  I  was  after  somethin'  else,  quite  different."  She 
paused. 

"Well,  speak  up.  You  usually  get  what  you're 
after." 

"I  did,"  returned  Hetty  triumphantly.  "Says  I,  still 
sort  o'  careless,  'Leacock  folks  would  be  glad  if  Mr. 
Breed  would  bring  his  wife  and  daughter  out  to  see  us 
some  day,'  and  Mr.  Frothin'ham  answered  up,  quick 
as  a  wink,  'Perhaps  he'll  bring  his  daughter,'  he  says, 
'but  his  wife  died  many  years  ago.' ' 

"There,"  returned  Mrs.  Berry,  "you  see  he  says 
you  '11  see  the  daughter.  He  knows  that  sure  as  gospel 
you  will." 

"All   very  well,"   returned  Miss  Woodward,   "but 


AUGUST  263 

you've  missed  the  point,  Martha.  Mr.  Breed's  a 
widower."  She  rocked  with  a  satisfied  abandon  which 
caused  her  hostess  to  grab  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

"You'll  go  over  on  your  head,  Het.  — What  is  it  to 
you  if  Mr.  Breed  is  a  widower?" 

"Nothin'.   I  never  knew  you  so  dumb,  Martha." 

Mrs.  Berry  gazed  with  cool  and  cautious  eyes  in 
which  understanding  slowly  awoke.  "Are  you  talkin' 
about  May  Ca'line?" 

Hetty  nodded  and  gave  her  gum  a  very  strenuous 
experience. 

"Oh,  pshaw,  she's  got  a  family  to  bring  up  now," 
said  Mrs.  Berry,  "and  he's  a  big,  rich  man.  Probably 
they're  as  far  apart  as  the  poles.  Think  of  all  the 
fashionable  women  he  knows.  He'd  never  look  at  May 
Ca'line." 

"He  would  in  a  movie,"  said  Hetty. 

"Oh,  you'd  better  come  down  to  earth,"  laughed 
Martha.  "  I  've  got  a  treat  for  you,  though.  Mr.  Froth- 
in'ham's  goin'  to  take  you  and  I  through  the  house  to 
morrow.  He  says  he  hates  to  give  offense,  but  he's 
explainin'  to  folks  that  since  the  furnishin's  have 
come  he  can't  invite  'em  in.  He  tells  'em  the  mistress 
will  soon  take  possession,  and  then  they  must  all  call 
on  her  and  they  can  see  everything,  but  he's  goin'  to 
take  you  and  I  through  on  the  sly,  'cause  we  was  his 
first  friends  and  he  can  rely  on  us  to  keep  our  mouths 
shut." 

"Oh,  that's  grand,"  said  Hetty.  "I  do  hope  Adam 
Breed's  daughter  ain't  goin'  to  be  the  stuck-up  kind." 

"If  she  was  do  you  suppose  he'd  bring  her  out  here?" 
returned  Martha ;  and  the  question  did  seem  unanswer 
able. 


264  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

One  day  May  Ca'line  and  the  twins  drove  out  in 
state  to  Rose  Ledge  and  had  a  happy  visit.  With  them 
were  Mrs.  Chetwyn  and  Ferdy.  The  boy  still  moved 
slowly,  but  he  had  discarded  his  crutches,  and  his  eyes 
shone  with  hope. 

It  was  a  wonder  day  to  May  Ca'line  and  the  children. 
Luncheon,  the  lovely  ride  on  the  lake,  tea  on  the  lawn, 
and  the  manifold  interests  of  the  charming  house 
absorbed  them  until  time  to  return. 

Vivian  was  an  alert  and  charming  hostess  and  May 
Ca'line's  eyes  followed  her  as  the  most  attractive  feature 
of  the  place. 

Adam  Breed  came  out  from  town  in  time  to  have  tea 
with  the  guests  before  the  departure  homeward.  Some 
weeks  had  elapsed  since  the  return  from  Breakers  Beach 
and  August  was  well  started,  yet  he  was  still  at  his  office 
every  day. 

May  Ca'line  had  opportunity  to  speak  to  him  alone 
before  she  entered  the  motor  to  return.  Mrs.  Chetwyn 
and  Ferdy  were  to  stay  on  at  Rose  Ledge  for  a  few  days. 

"Your  daughter  is  tired,  Adam,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Breed  cast  a  glance  around  at  the  girl  who  was 
laughing  at  some  sally  of  Ella's. 

"This  is  a  wonderfully  wholesome  place,"  he  pro 
tested. 

"Yes,  for  guests,"  she  replied.  "Your  daughter  is 
tired,"  she  repeated. 

"I've  been  thinking  of  putting  her  out  to  grass,"  he 
said,  "but  it  seems  hard  for  me  to  get  away  farther 
than  here.  If  I  choose  the  place  will  you  take  her  under 
your  wing?" 

"Would  she  be  happy  under  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  she's  strong  for  you." 


AUGUST  265 

"But  I  have  the  children." 

"That's  why  one  more  won't  make  much  difference." 

"Is  it  right  for  me  to  leave  Joe?" 

"Joe  is  going  to  California." 

"What!" 

"Yes,  I'm  sending  him  next  week." 

The  mother  looked  rather  aghast. 

"It  will  do  him  good,  May.  That  is  one  reason  I'm 
sending  him.  Remember,  as  you  once  said  to  me  of 
Ferdy,  'I  love  him,  too.": 

May  Ca'line  lifted  her  grateful  glance  to  the  quizzical 
eyes. 

"You  are  the  little  mascot  of  us  all,"  said  Adam 
Breed. 

"You  make  me  very  happy  saying  so." 

"Then,  do  you  put  yourself  in  my  hands,  and  so  take 
care  of  my  little  girl  —  let  her  be  a  vegetable  for  a 
while?" 

"  If  Joe  says  I  may,"  she  answered,  smiling. 

"I  don't  know  that  you  need  to  consult  Joe  —  going 
across  the  continent  to  leave  you.  You're  free,  white, 
and  twenty-one." 

"You  talk  it  over  with  Joe,"  she  said. 

"I  have." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  then.  Come,  children.  We 
must  leave  Paradise  and  go  home  to  our  own  dear  little 
sand-pile.  Good-bye,  Miss  Vivian.  You  have  given  us 
a  wonderful  day,  never  to  be  forgotten." 

"Then  don't  call  me  'Miss,'  Mrs.  Laird."  Vivian 
took  the  little  woman's  hands  and  kissed  her.  "Remem 
ber  what  you  stand  for  to  us."  She  motioned  with  her 
head  to  where  her  brother  stood  erect  by  the  roadside. 

"You  all  make  me  too  happy,"  said  May  Ca'line,  and 


266  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

her  eyes  were  bright  as  she  gathered  her  brood  into  the 
motor. 

When  they  had  gone  Adam  Breed  turned  to  his 
daughter  and  examined  her  critically. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "have  I  changed  very  much  since 
this  morning?" 

"I'm  told  by  various  and  sundry  members  of  the 
Laird  family  that  you  need  a  rest.  I  have  pleaded  that 
Rose  Ledge  is  a  rather  fresh  and  invigorating  place,  but 
all  to  no  avail.  Joe  says  you  're  thin  and  I  work  you  too 
hard." 

"  Did  you  discharge  him  for  that  ? "  asked  Vivian  gayly. 

"Yes.  He's  going  to  California  to  seek  his  fortune." 

The  effect  of  the  jocose  reply  surprised  Adam  Breed. 
His  daughter's  eyes  flashed  at  him  and  she  seized  his 
arm.  "You  don't  mean  that,  of  course,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"Yes,  he  is  going  to  California." 

"But  —  on  business  for  you?" 

"Well,"  returned  Adam  Breed  dryly,  "in  the  hope  of 
living  a  little  longer  I  will  admit  that  he  is." 

Vivian  dropped  her  grasp  on  his  arm,  and  all  vivacity 
having  disappeared  from  her  face  her  father  observed 
its  tired  expression. 

"Here,  youngster,  come  and  sit  down,"  he  said,  and 
drew  her  toward  a  cushioned  seat  on  the  broad  veranda. 
"You  tell  me  you  don't  yearn  for  fashion  at  the  shore." 

"Oh,  daddy,  do  let  me  off.  I  love -it  here.  Let  me 
stay  without  any  guests." 

"No;  I  don't  think  Joe  Laird  would  consider  that 
that  freed  you  sufficiently."  As  he  said  this  Adam 
Breed  watched  its  effect  and  saw  the  pale  face  color,  up 
to  the  bright-hued  hair. 


AUGUST  267 

Ttey  were  silent  for  a  space,  then  he  spoke  again. 
"Joe  is  a  very  obscure  fellow,  Vivian.  Not  one  of  the 
set  you  have  enjoyed  and  played  with  the  last  year 
ever  heard  of  him." 

"He  won't  be  obscure  after  you  have  placed  him 
where  he  ought  to  be,"  she  answered,  playing  with  the 
tassel  of  her  pillow.  "You  once  told  me  you  wanted  to 
give  him  opportunities." 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  give  him  the 
biggest  opportunity  of  all."  Adam  Breed  said  it  slowly, 
regarding  his  daughter,  who  continued  to  regard  the 
tassel.  "Perhaps  he  may  stay  in  California,"  he  added. 
"Perhaps  I'll  exile  him." 

The  girl  glanced  around  at  the  speaker  with  a  sugges 
tion  of  mischief  in  her  eyes. 

"And  offer  me  Willis  Frothingham  on  a  silver  salver, 
I  suppose,"  she  replied. 

"Frothingham  is  a  rising  man,  Vivian.  Very,  very 
promising,  and  he  knows  all  your  friends." 

"He's  lots  of  fun,"  returned  the  girl.    "I  like  him." 

"So  do  I.  I  told  him  so;  and  that  brings  me  to  some 
thing  I  want  to  tell  you.  Mrs.  Laird  has  also  noticed 
that  I  have  been  a  cruel  parent  and  allowed  my  child 
to  work  and  play  too  hard.  You  said  the  other  day 
you  wanted  to  be  put  out  to  grass.  How  would  you  like 
her  for  a  chaperon?" 

Vivian  looked  around,  smiling  with  wide  eyes.  "I'd 
love  it;  the  little  cherie,  but  it  would  be  a  case  of  my 
chaperoning  her." 

"Not  in  the  tall  grass.  She  is  more  at  home  there 
than  you  are.  Now  here's  my  story.  Your  father  is 
going  to  confess  to  a  sentimental  freak."  He  paused 
and  his  daughter  again  looked  around  at  him. 


268  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"  I  'm  so  interested,"  she  said,  regarding  him  curiously. 

"I've  never  forgotten  the  little  village  of  Leacock 
where  I  began  my  career." 

"Yes,  and  where  you  admired  the  pretty  girl,  but  she 
was  engaged  to  some  one  else." 

"Exactly.  By  —  a  —  a  combination  of  —  of  circum 
stances,  her  son  came  one  day  to  be  my  secretary. 
Years  later  he  asked  for  leave  of  absence  to  go  and 
bring  his  mother  to  town  to  live  with  him.  When  he 
returned  he  looked  rather  ghastly.  I  guessed  that  he 
had  found  a  pathetic  state  of  things.  I  knew  he  had 
plenty  of  other  troubles  of  his  own,  but  I  inquired  a  bit 
about  the  mother  and  found  that  it  had  been  a  wrench 
for  her  to  give  up  her  old  home.  An  idea  flashed  into 
my  mind.  I  had  always  had  somewhat  of  a  hankering 
to  own  a  bit  of  Leacock  ground.  Why  not  buy  her 
place?  I  found  a  mortgage  had  been  foreclosed  on  it 
and  that  was  why  she  had  to  come  to  Joe.  I  chose 
Frothingham  for  my  agent — " 

"And  it's  your  place,  then,  that  he  wrote  me  of!" 
exclaimed  Vivian.  "The  Rube  place." 

"Precisely.  It  is  now  in  shape.  The  Lairds  know 
nothing  about  it  and  it  was  my  idea  to  give  them  a  sur 
prise.  To  tell  the  truth,  at  the  time  I  bought  it  I  was 
thinking  it  would  be  a  good  place  to  stow  Joe's  family 
part  of  the  year." 

"Daddy,  you've  given  a  lot  of  thought  to  him,"  said 
Vivian  gratefully. 

Mr.  Breed  nodded. 

"Now  that  circumstances  have  totally  changed,  I 
still  think  it  will  be  a  welcome  resort  for  his  mother 
and  the  children  in  summer,  and  I'm  telling  you  all 
this  because  I  'm  planning  to  take  them  out  there  next 


AUGUST  269 

week,  and  I  wondered  if  you  would  n't  like  to  go  too. 
If  your  desire  is  to  creep  into  a  hole  and  pull  it  in  after 
you,  Leacock  will  fill  the  bill." 

"I  do  want  to.  It  will  be  exactly  right!"  returned 
Vivian  enthusiastically. 

"Then  mum's  the  word.  I  want  to  surprise  them, 
remember." 

"Surprise  whom?"  asked  Vivian  demurely. 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,  Joe's  going  too  —  unless  you 
object." 

"  I  think  he  ought  to  go." 

"Yes.  Let  him  see  his  native  heath  before  he  starts 
West.  But  none  of  them  will  know  our  destination, 
remember.  Later,  perhaps,  Ferdy  will  come  out  there. 
Hear  him  now,  laughing  with  Mrs.  Chetwyn." 

The  twins  had  much  to  tell  their  father  that  night. 
There  were  swans  at  Rose  Ledge  —  they  had  fed  them. 
There  were  goldfish  swimming  about  in  the  basin  of  a 
fountain.  There  was  a  big  collie  dog  who  had  played 
tag  with  them  on  the  lawn.  So  they  went  on  describing 
joy  upon  joy,  and  after  they  had  gone  to  sleep  Joe 
sighed  a  bit  over  it  as  he  sat  with  his  mother  on  the 
piazza. 

"After  all,  that  is  the  best  thing  a  fortune  brings  a 
man  —  room  for  the  growing  generation  to  stretch  their 
legs,"  he  said.  "Poor  kiddies,  back  to  a  yard  a  little 
bigger  than  a  tablecloth."  But  it  was  a  cheerful  groan, 
after  all,  that  the  speaker  gave  and  he  looked  now  ap 
provingly  at  the  fresh  little  gown  of  violet  and  white 
which  his  mother  wore. 

One  day  after  their  return  from  the  seashore  he  had 
requested  her  to  destroy  or  give  away  every  article  of 
wearing  apparel  she  had  brought  from  Leacock, 


270  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  again  one  of  the  dresses  you  have 
worn,"  he  said. 

"But  the  money  it  will  cost,  Joe!"  she  protested. 

"My  salary  has  been  increased.  I  can  buy  you  all  the 
dresses  you  need.  Go  back  to  that  store  and  find  the 
young  woman  we  dealt  with  and  buy  everything  you 


want." 


May  Ca'line  gasped  at  such  abandon,  but  she  obeyed 
to  a  degree,  and  to-night  her  boy  thought  she  looked 
very  charming. 

"When  are  you  going  to  tell  me  your  great  news?" 
she  asked. 

"I  see  you  know  it,"  he  returned,  smiling. 

"I  think  I  have  a  right  to  cry  about  it  a  little,"  she 
said.  "It  will  be  just  for  a  short  time,  won't  it,  dear?" 

"I  don't  know.  The  work  I  am  to  do  out  there 
amounts  to  a  big  business  rise  for  me." 

"I  don't  see  why  California  should  swallow  both  my 
children,"  said  May  Ca'line,  suspicious  moisture  on  her 
lashes. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  go,  mother.  I  don't  like  to  leave  you," 
said  Joe  quietly,  "but  I  have  a  cowardly  longing  to  run 
away  somewhere,  run  away  from  Vivian  Breed.  Her 
father  is  very  ambitious  for  her.  She  has  a  crowd  of 
suitors.  Another  winter  is  sure  to  see  her  married.  I  'd 
—  I  'd  rather  be  away." 

"Oh,  dear  me,"  said  May  Ca'line  dolefully.  "How 
troublesome  girls  are.  I  thought  we  were  so  happy, 
Joe." 

"We  are,  you  mite,  but  I'm  a  terrible  fool  about 
that  girl.  It  will  give  me  some  sense  and  balance  to  be 
across  the  continent  from  her.  I  want  to  know  that 
there  is  no  possibility  of  seeing  her." 


AUGUST  271 

"Then  you  can  get  acquainted  again  with  your  sis 
ter,  too,"  said  May  Ca'line.  "That  will  be  some  comfort 
to  me.  Well,  well,"  she  added  thoughtfully,  "is  it  so 
serious?  I've  been  asked  to  chaperon  Miss  Breed  the 
rest  of  the  summer.  I  see  now  that  I  could  never  chape 
ron  you  both.  What  is  this  plan  of  Mr.  Breed's  ?  Some 
thing  about  our  going  into  the  country." 

Joe  leaned  forward  with  eager  interest. 

"Is  she  to  be  in  it?  I  did  n't  know  that.  Mr.  Breed 
told  me  he  had  some  plan  for  you  and  the  children  dur 
ing  my  absence  and  asked  me  to  leave  it  to  him,  and 
not  to  ask  questions." 

"I  told  him  his  daughter  looked  tired,"  returned  May 
Ca'line,  "and  I  think  the  idea  popped  into  his  head  that 
minute.  I  don't  understand  why  he  should  give  us  a 
surprise  party.  Do  you  ? " 

"Why,  it's  evidently  his  kindness.  He  felt  that  two 
weeks  at  the  shore  was  n't  enough  and  that  this  place 
was  rather  cooped  up  for  August.  I  told  him  we  should 
be  glad  to  accept  his  choice  of  a  place  if  he  would  re 
member  to  go  light  enough  on  my  pocket-book.  He 
answered  that  the  place  he  had  in  mind  would  be  rent 
free,  and  I  told  him  that  was  cheap  enough.  I  suppose 
it  is  property  of  his  own.  Of  course,  I  shall  go,  too,  and 
see  you  settled,  and  now  Vivian  is  to  be  there  — "  Joe 
looked  off  into  space.  "Well,  it  will  be  one  last  draught 
before  going  into  the  desert." 

"Nonsense!"  ejaculated  May  Ca'line,  bridling. 
"Aren't  you  as  good  as  any  man?" 

"Oh,  yes,  perhaps  better;  but  not  so  rich." 

"Rich!"  repeated  May  Ca'line  scornfully.  "It  is 
possible,"  she  added,  "that  she  will  have  something 
to  say  about  this.  I  just  wonder  if  she  would  have 


HEARTS9  HAVEN 

plunged  into  that  tumbling  water  to  aid  anybody  and 
everybody." 

"Yes,  she  would,"  declared  Joe  decidedly.  "It  is 
exactly  what  she  would  have  done." 

"Well, ".returned  his  mother,  "whether  you  are  right 
or  wrong  about  that,  I  am  resigned  now  to  your  going 
to  California." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  HOUSEWARMING 

THE  loth  of  August  dawned  like  any  other  day 
in  Leacock.  The  village  lay  in  a  reaction  from 
Willis  Frothingham's  dance,  but  was  still  talking  about 
it.  Everybody  knew  that  he  was  sleeping  at  the  Laird 
place  now  to  guard  its  finished  loveliness;  and  every 
body  began  to  wonder  what  day  he  would  leave  for  his 
wedding. 

Hetty,  as  postmistress,  had  a  wonderment  of  her  own 
which  she  was  not  slow  to  put  up  against  Martha's  com 
placent  certainty  as  to  Mr.  Frothingham's  intentions. 
Why,  if  he  came  to  Leacock  on  the  eve  of  marrying, 
had  there  not  come  to  him  constant  letters  in  a  woman's 
handwriting  —  always  the  same?  Letters  he  did  re 
ceive;  nearly  all  forwarded  letters,  and  sometimes  in 
a  woman's  hand,  but  nothing  regular,  and  seldom  two 
alike. 

Simon  Berry  had  received  a  generous  order  to  stock 
the  new  home  with  staple  groceries  and  canned  goods 
and  had  ordered  from  town  a  list  of  delicacies  prescribed 
by  Willis  Frothingham. 

"What  would  May  Ca'line  say  to  such  richness?" 
replied  Martha  Berry  to  her  husband's  exultant  com 
ment.  "There  she  is  saddled  with  two  children  to  take 
care  of  and  with  the  responsibility  o'  tryin'  to  save  from 
her  son's  small  salary,  while  all  this  is  goin'  on  in  her 
old  home!" 

Martha  had  not  said  so  to  Hetty,  but  she  felt  there 


274  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

was  nothing  in  the  letter  the  postmistress  had  read  to 
her  to  disprove  any  of  her  suspicions  concerning  the 
nature  of  the  daughter-in-law. 

"I'll  bet,"  she  soliloquized,  "that  May  Ca'line's 
happier  now  even  with  all  her  work  and  care." 

That  loth  of  August,  Hetty  Woodward  was  wont  to 
say  afterward,  her  good  angel  was  certainly  with  her. 
She  did  n't  know  why  she  sauntered  after  supper  up 
to  the  Laird  place,  but  she  did  so,  and  while  she  was 
lingering,  looking  at  the  well-kept  grounds,  the  comfort 
able  seats  under  the  elm  trees,  the  screened  porches 
and  the  trim  sward,  the  spick-and-span  cleanliness  of 
new  paint  and  climbing  vines,  two  handsome  motor 
cars  came  slowly  up  the  street  and  paused  before  the 
house. 

Hetty  backed  away  to  the  shelter  of  a  large  tree  at  a 
little  distance.  Perhaps  the  wedding  was  to  occur  here! 
She  had  never  thought  of  that. 

Adam  Breed  had  arranged  the  parties  in  the  motors 
to  suit  himself.  May  Ca'line,  Joe,  and  Vivian  drove 
with  him.  In  the  other  car  were  Nora  and  the  children, 
with  various  suitcases,  thermos  bottles,  and  hampers  of 
luncheon,  chiefly  fruit.  Mr.  Breed  had  previously  seen 
to  expressing  the  women's  trunks,  and  Joe  would  have 
been  vastly  amused  and  interested  by  the  revelation 
of  a  novel  side  of  his  employer  if  he  had  not  been  so 
engrossed  in  this  holiday  with  that  employer's  daughter. 

A  hundred  thrifty  questions  had  occurred  to  May 
Ca'line  on  leaving  home.  Ever  since  Gladys  left  them 
she  had  been  installed,  in  spite  of  all  her  opposition,  in 
the  one  roomy  chamber  of  the  house,  and  Joe  had 
moved  into  the  hall  bedroom.  It  seemed  strange  now 


A  HOUSEWARMING  275 

to  turn  the  key  on  all  the  arrangements  she  had  made 
for  the  family  comfort,  leave  the  little  house  to  bake 
alone  under  the  August  sun,  a  prey  perhaps  to  invasion, 
with  the  most  indefinite  idea  as  to  when  she  should  see 
it  again.  But  on  the  morning  of  the  start,  as  the  glis 
tening  motors  came  up  the  street  and  they  all  embarked 
and  rolled  away  gayly  into  some  delightful  unknown, 
it  was  not  in  May  Ca'line's  nature  to  dwell  on  any 
carking  care  whatever. 

The  twins  were  armed  with  pails  and  shovels  as  sym 
bols  of  life's  highest  joys,  and  Nora  was  in  a  state  of 
excited  rapture  over  the  excursion,  modified  only  by 
her  awe  of  the  chauffeur. 

The  party  had  talked  and  laughed  and  eaten  and 
joked  until  they  reached  the  village  which  adjoined 
Leacock.  Here  the  Lairds  began  to  recognize  their  sur 
roundings. 

"Do  you  know  where  we're  going?"  asked  Joe  of 
Vivian. 

"Daddy,  may  I  admit  that  I  know  where  we're  go 
ing?"  she  asked. 

"To  Arcadia,  of  course.  We're  all  aware  of  that," 
he  returned. 

The  cars  sped  on.  Every  mile  they  passed  verified 
further  the  suspicion  growing  in  the  minds  of  the  guests. 

"Adam,"  said  May  Ca'line  faintly,  "are  you  taking 
us  —  "  Her  laughter  had  fled  and  her  eyes  were  wide 
and  wondering.  What  was  there  in  Leacock  that  could 
provide  a  resting-place  for  Adam  Breed's  daughter? 

She  reached  out  her  hand  for  Joe's  and  he  clasped  and 
held  it. 

The  host  began  to  have  misgivings.  "Backward, 
turn  backward,  O  Time,  in  thy  flight,"  he  said,  bravely 


276  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

ignoring  the  signs  of  apprehension.  "  It  ought  to  make 
us  young  again  to  see  this  place,  May." 

Her  lips  moved  to  form  assent  and  she  tried  to  look 
interested,  but  the  slow-moving  months  of  humiliation 
and  want  were  too  vividly  connected  with  every  land 
mark  they  were  now  passing. 

Joe  tried  to  fill  in  the  breach.  "If  any  of  the  folks  see 
us  as  we  go  through  Leacock,  they  will  report  that  Mrs. 
Laird  made  her  fortune  in  the  city  and  came  back  like 
a  queen,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  bade  his  mother  brace  up. 

Their  motor  was  the  one  in  front  and  it  was  suddenly 
signaled  and  stopped.  Willis  Frothingham  jumped  on 
the  running-board.  "Room  for  one  more?"  he  asked, 
and  was  gayly  welcomed  in  and  introductions  followed. 
He  gave  directions  to  the  chauffeur  and  then  bestowed 
all  his  attention  and  conversation  on  Vivian. 

"Don't  tell  me  you're  going  to  stay  here!"  he  said, 
aghast,  "and  me  just  about  to  make  my  escape  and 
spread  my  wings  for  Rose  Ledge." 

"Indeed,  I  am,"  returned  Vivian.  "You  seem  to  be 
looking  at  a  girl,  but  you're  wrong.  It's  a  vegetable. 
I've  come  here  to  vegetate." 

"You  have  made  an  unerring  choice  of  locality," 
declared  the  young  man  with  such  openly  admiring 
eyes  and  assurance  of  manner  that  Joe  accepted  him  at 
once  as  the  destroyer  of  his  peace. 

"Frothingham,"  repeated  May  Ca'line  to  herself; 
"the  man  who  bought  my  house."  She  had  released  her 
son's  hand  and  now  prepared  herself  for  what  might  be 
coming. 

The  motors  moved  slowly  up  the  familiar  street,  and 
Hetty  Woodward,  seeing  their  approach,  backed  away, 
as  has  been  said,  to  the  shelter  of  a  great  tree. 


A  HOUSEWARMING  277 

As  the  cars  stopped,  May  Ca'line  gazed  with  fas 
cinated  eyes  at  the  transformation  before  her.  Her 
thoughts  were  in  a  whirl.  Joe's  exclamations  of  admira 
tion,  damped  though  they  were  by  the  green-eyed 
monster,  were  spontaneously  hearty  and  amazed. 

The  chauffeurs  carried  suitcases  and  hampers  up  to 
the  piazza.  May  Ca'line  continued  to  gaze  mutely. 
Could  this  be  the  spot  where  she  had  sobbed  in  Joe's 
arms  that  evening  in  June,  poverty-stricken  and  shrink 
ing  from  the  future? 

Willis  Frothingham  spoke. 

"Well,  I  '11  give  the  men  something  to  eat  and  see  you 
this  evening,  Mr.  Breed." 

"Come  back  to  supper  in  half  an  hour,"  was  the 
reply. 

"All  right.  Thank  you,  I  will."  He  jumped  into  the 
forward  car  and  both  motors  rolled  away  leaving  their 
human  freight  upon  the  walk. 

Hetty  saw  a  stately  man  with  a  gray  mustache,  a 
lovely  young  girl,  and  Joe  Laird,  his  children,  and  a 
maid,  but  her  eyes  were  glued  to  May  Ca'line,  dressed 
in  approved  city  garb,  and  looking,  as  she  afterward 
averred,  "like  a  girl  again." 

They  all  stood  still  on  the  walk,  regarding  the  lovely 
little  homestead.  Adam  Breed's  eyes  gazed  approv 
ingly. 

"A  good  place  to  go  to  grass,  Vivian?" 

"  It  is  perfectly  sweet,"  she  answered  heartily. 

"Joe,  I  hope  your  mother  will  pardon  the  liberties  I 
have  taken  with  her  old  home."  As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Breed 
turned  half-apprehensively  toward  May  Ca'line  and 
rejoiced  to  see  her  face  grow  radiant  as  she  scanned  the 
scene  before  her. 


278  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"It  is  as  if  the  poor  little  house  had  died  and  gone  to 
Heaven,"  she  said  slowly.  "Why  should  n't  I  be  glad? 
It  is  like  my  new  life." 

"Bless  you,"  said  Adam  Breed.  He  turned  to  his 
secretary.  "Then,  Joe,  I  want  you  to  accept  this  place 
as  a  parting  gift  from  me.  It  is  right  that  the  house 
where  you  were  born  should  belong  to  you." 

The  young  fellow  turned  quickly  to  his  friend,  inca 
pable  of  speech,  a  lump  in  his  throat.  The  two  clasped 
hands. 

"Let's  go  in,"  said  Adam  Breed,  "and  look  it  over 
before  the  sun  sets." 

The  twins,  held  close  by  Nora,  were  now  released  and 
pranced  away  gayly  over  the  velvety  turf,  the  day's 
energy  stowed  in  their  little  legs  finding  a  grand  outlet. 

Hetty  Woodward  came  out  from  behind  the  tree  and 
pinched  herself.  No,  it  was  not  a  dream.  She  had  seen 
Adam  Breed  and  his  daughter  and  had  heard  the  pres 
entation  speech  which  solved  all  doubts  about  the  house. 
Above  all,  she  had  seen  May  Ca'line;  pretty,  prosper 
ous,  stylish  May  Ca'line!  Would  her  legs  serve  her  to 
go  as  far  as  Martha  Berry's  ?  That  was  the  only  ques 
tion.  She  hobbled  along,  quaking  with  excitement. 
May  Ca'line  was  mistress  of  all  the  beauty  and  com 
pleteness  she  and  Martha  had  witnessed  on  their  late 
tour  through  the  house.  May  Ca'line  would  be  living 
here,  perhaps  permanently.  Mr.  Frothingham  was  only 
an  agent,  not  an  owner.  Adam  Breed  would  never  have 
spent  all  those  thousands  of  dollars  to  give  that  place 
to  Joe  Laird  if  he  were  not  still  in  love  with  May 
Ca'line.  Life  in  Leacock  was  getting  to  be  too  over 
whelmingly  exciting.  She  would  have  to  go  to  a  sanita 
rium  and  take  a  rest  cure  if  this  sort  of  thing  went  on. 


A  HOUSEWARMING  279 

Arrived  at  Martha  Berry's  she  beheld  her  giving 
supper  to  the  two  chauffeurs  and  she  lingered,  sitting 
on  the  kitchen  doorstep  until  her  friend  should  be  at 
liberty. 

To  her  Simon  Berry  appeared. 

"I  dunno,"  he  grumbled,  "as  I  care  'bout  keepin'  a 
tavern.  Frothin'ham  said  two  friends  would  be  here 
to  a  late  supper  and  Martha's  just  soft  enough  to  do 
anything  he  wants." 

"Where  are  they  goin'  to  sleep?"  asked  Hetty  in 
deep  tones.  Even  had  the  doorstep  possessed  rockers 
she  could  not  have  rocked. 

"To  the  hotel.  Wonder  who  they  be.  They  look  like 
military  men." 

"They're  chiffoniers,"  said  Hetty  from  the  depths  of 
her  ponderous  knowledge. 

"Shofers,  do  ye  mean?  Who's  got  two  shofers  in  this 
part  o'  the  woods?" 

"Visitors,"  replied  Hetty  laconically.  Simon  might 
probe  in  vain.  There  was  going  to  be  no  anti-climax  to 
the  burst  of  information  shortly  to  descend  upon  Martha 
Berry.  "Did  n't  Mr.  Frothin'ham  tell  you  who  they 
were?"  she  asked  cautiously. 

"No.  He  landed  'em  on  us,  brought  'em  over  here 
from  the  hotel,  sayin'  he  had  pity  on  'em,  then  he  went 
up  to  his  room  and  washed  and  went  out  ag'in.  What's 
up?  Has  some  of  his  swell  friends  come  to  town?" 

Hetty  fanned  herself  with  a  newspaper,  turned  her 
head  aside,  and  gave  a  smile  as  subtly  portentous  as 
any  ever  seen  on  the  screen. 

"They  have,"  she  answered  in  a  hollow  tone. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  end  of  the  tour  through  the  new 
house,  in  a  room  upstairs  done  in  delicate  shades  of 


280  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

violet,  May  Ca'line  and  her  boy  stood  clasped  in  one 
another's  arms. 

"It  does  n't  seem  real,  Joe." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh.  "According  to  your  philoso 
phy  the  more  beautiful  it  is,  the  more  real." 

"To  think  that  this  lovely  place  is  yours,  dear!" 

"Yes,  it's  a  regular  fairy  godfather  performance,  I 
admit;  and  the  Governor  is  enjoying  it.  How  he  is 
enjoying  it!" 

"Think  of  my  ever  owning  a  cheval  glass  and  a 
chaise  longue,  Joe!" 

"Good  enough  for  you,  honey.  Don't  you  cry  now 
and  spoil  your  eyes.  Supper  in  ten  minutes.  Think  of 
smuggling  the  Rose  Ledge  cook  here  and  having  every 
thing  ready.  Money  surely  is  the  magician's  wand." 

"Yes,  with  a  kind  heart  behind  it.  I'm  sorry  for  your 
sake,  dear,  that  Mr.  Frothingham  will  be  here  to 
supper." 

"He  deserves  a  bonbon,"  said  Joe.  "If  you  could 
imagine  what  it  has  been  to  him  to  spend  a  summer  in 
Leacock!" 

"I'm  sure  he  was  well  paid,"  said  May  Ca'line, 
instinctively  inimical  to  the  man  who  had  looked  so 
devouringly  at  her  son's  love. 

"You  may  be  sure  he  was  well  paid.  He's  an  expen 
sive  luxury,"  — Joe  heaved  a  quick  sigh,  —  "and  I'm 
sure  he  is  going  to  be  paid  still  better.  He 's  the  coming 
man.  I've  often  heard  it  hinted.  He's  the  man  that 
makes  California  my  Mecca." 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  it,  but  anyway  I  am  going  to  be 
in  a  position  to  see,  and  I  '11  keep  you  posted." 

"No,  thank  you.  I  object  to  being  killed  by  inches. 
Don't  detail  symptoms,  please." 


A  HOUSEWARMING  281 

"You  must  have  your  picture  taken  before  you  go, 
Joe."  May  Ca'line  clung  to  him.  "I  insist  upon  that." 

"Well,  we  can't  have  it  taken  till  after  supper,  so 
hurry,  honey.  We're  due  downstairs." 

"Go  out  and  see  the  children  a  minute.  They're  so 
sweet  in  the  nursery." 

Joe  proceeded  to  the  back  of  the  house,  where,  above 
what  had  once  been  a  summer  kitchen  and  shed,  there 
were  two  finished  rooms,  one  of  which  had  been  dedi 
cated  to  the  twins.  The  frieze  and  rugs  represented 
babies,  birds,  rabbits,  and  lambs,  and  there  at  a  little 
white  table  sat  the  children,  ministered  to  by  Nora, 
and  eating  their  supper.  Daddy  was  the  crowning 
touch.  They  both  talked  to  him  at  once  of  the  little 
beds  on  their  screened  sleeping-porch,  where  they 
would  see  the  stars  to-night,  and  in  the  morning  hear 
the  birds. 

"Birds  don't  sing  much  in  August,"  said  Joe.  "The 
brook  will  have  to  do  the  singing." 

"The  brook  is  the  best  thing  here,"  announced  Ella. 

"  I  don't  want  to  ever  go  home,"  declared  Bob. 

Joe  bowed  his  head  over  them.  His  children  at  last 
had  room  to  gambol  on  the  green  to  their  hearts'  con 
tent.  They  might  fall  into  the  brook  daily.  Nora  was 
on  hand  to  take  care  of  them. 

Vivian,  retaining  one  of  the  cars,  would  be  here  for 
some  time  at  least.  His  mother  would  have  ease,  com 
fort,  luxury.  Surely  he  should  quell  his  selfish  longings 
and  be  content  in  the  well-being  of  his  loved  ones.  His 
mother  was  the  center  and  cause  of  it  all,  of  course.  He 
wondered  if  she  really  believed  that  Adam  Breed,  the 
hard  man,  had  gone  to  this  extraordinary  trouble  and 
expense  in  order  to  bestow  such  a  gift  upon  his  secretary. 


282  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Joe  had  received  many  proofs  that  the  fatal  accident 
at  the  Three  Crows  had  broken  down  a  barrier  which 
had  withstood  the  years;  that  for  him  his  employer 
would  never  again  be  a  hard  man,  unless,  indeed,  in 
time  to  come,  Vivian  remaining  free,  he  should  lift  his 
eyes  to  her.  There,  he  believed,  Adam  Breed  would 
make  a  stand.  There  was  an  invisible  line  enclosing 
the  select.  Willis  Frothingham  and  a  dozen  other  of 
Vivian's  suitors  dwelt  within  the  pale.  He  himself  was 
emphatically  outside.  True,  Vivian  seemed  to  show 
frankly  her  enjoyment  of  his  society,  but  probably  that 
light  in  her  lovely  eyes  indicated  compassion. 

There  had  been  a  romance  in  Adam  Breed's  youth 
of  which  his  mother  had  been  the  heroine.  He  won 
dered  what  thoughts  she  harbored  as  she  looked  about 
on  the  luxuries  and  comforts  which  had  entailed  so 
much  expenditure  of  thought  and  money. 

"Giving  it  to  me!"  thought  Joe  with  a  smile  and  a 
shrug.  He  admired  the  childlike  pleasure  and  uncon 
sciousness  his  mother  had  displayed  during  the  viewing 
of  the  house.  Considering  that  the  place  belonged  to 
Joe,  it  was  rather  curious  that  Mr.  Breed's  eyes  had 
consulted  only  May  Ca'line's  approval  throughout. 

While  waiting  for  supper  Vivian  stood  with  her  father 
on  a  side  porch.  She  put  her  arm  through  his.  "What 
a  grand  success,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Frothingham  is  very  capable,"  he  replied. 

She  squeezed  his,  arm.  "  I  never  realized  till  to-night 
how  much  you  loved  that  obscure  Joe." 

"Eh?  Oh,  yes.  Joe's  a  fine  chap." 

"When  you  give  him  a  piece  of  property  like  this," 
continued  Vivian,  "it  shows  how  constantly  you  have 
him  in  your  thought." 


A  HOUSEWARMING  283 

Adam  Breed  glanced  quickly  down  at  his  daughter, 
then  back  at  the  crimson  west. 

"I  told  you  it  was  a  sentimental  freak  of  mine.  I 
told  you  I  wanted  to  own  a  bit  of  Leacock." 

"You'll  have  to  get  another,  then,  won't  you?" 

"Why,  pray?" 

"You  have  given  this  away." 

Once  more  her  father  glanced  down  and  up  again 
quickly.  "I  don't  believe  there  is  anything  else  here 
that  would  interest  me." 

"Sure?"  Vivian  drawled  the  question,  squeezing  his 
arm  and  laughing.  "Oh,  I'm  not  jealous." 

"Why  should  you  be?" 

"You  gave  the  place  to  Joe  instead  of  to  me,  did  n't 
you?  Was  it  your  idea  that  it  would  be  all  in  the 
family?" 

"Tut,  tut,  Vivian.  No,  no.  None  of  that  now.  I 
thought  —  I  thought  that  it  might  as  well  be  in  Joe's 


name  as  — " 


"As  in  hers?" 

"As  in  mine.  I  designed  it  for  his  benefit  in  the  first 
place." 

"You  treat  him  just  like  a  son,  don't  you?" 

"None  of  that,  I  tell  you,  Vivian.  Now,  Frothingham 
is  coming  over  to  supper.  He  has  done  a  fine  piece  of 
work  here  and  I  want  you  to  devote  yourself  to  him. 
He  has  to  go  back  to  town  to-morrow  and  he  is  mighty 
disappointed  that  you  are  n't  to  be  there." 

"No,  indeed,  I'm  going  to  be  here  taking  care  of  Joe's 
property." 

Her  father  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
"You  don't  want  two  children  to  bring  up,"  he  said  at 
last. 


284  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

His  daughter  lifted  her  eyes  to  him  demurely.  "  Would 
it  interfere  with  your  plans  if  Cherie  brought  them  up  ? " 
she  asked. 

He  laughed  and  the  crimson  sunset  was  reflected  in  his 
face.  "You're  a  saucy  jade,"  he  remarked  quietly.  "I 
don't  believe  you  understand  entirely,  my  child." 

"If  I  did  n't,  dearest,"  she  returned  gently,  "it  would 
be  your  paternal  duty  to  place  me  in  an  asylum.  And 
let  me  assure  you  that  I  realize  there  is  something  very 
fine  about  a  woman  who  can  behave  as  she  has  this 
afternoon.  In  the  first  place,  she  received  a  shock,  but 
she  knew  you  had  intended  to  give  pleasure  and  she 
controlled  herself.  Then,  if  she  had  really  believed  you 
did  all  this  for  Joe,  she  could  not  have  carried  herself 
differently.  I  admired  her  very  much." 

Here  May  Ca'line  appeared  from  the  house.  "I  see 
Mr.  Frothingham  coming,"  she  said,  "and  supper  is 
ready.  It's  the  most  fairy-like  looking  supper." 

"Heavens,  I  hope  not,"  said  Adam  Breed;  "I've  a 
gigantic  appetite." 

"I  keep  pinching  myself,"  said  May  Ca'line,  "but 
nothing  disappears  and  I  go  right  on  dreaming.  It's 
great  fun." 

Father  and  daughter  regarded  her.  She  wore  a  black 
net  dress  with  open  square  neck  and  her  bright  curls 
glinted  in  the  last  sun-rays. 

"I  don't  think  you  will  have  to  say,  'Little  table, 
disappear,'  when  we  finish,"  said  Vivian,  "with  three 
men  on  your  hands.  Is  Mr.  Laird  one  of  the  hungry 
sort?"  she  added  with  polite  interest. 

"Oh,  my  child,  you  will  have  to  drop  that  ' Mister' 
while  you  're  under  my  wing.  I  '11  try  not  to  bore  you  — 
try  not  to  have  my  conversation  too  much  Joe,  Joe? 
Joe." 


A  HOU  SEW  ARMING  285 

"Don't  mind  me,  Cherie,"  returned  the  girl,  putting 
an  arm  around  her  as  they  moved  toward  the  house, 
"  I  '11  stoop  down  and  get  under  your  wing  occasionally, 
but  mostly,  I  think,  I  shall  be  using  my  own  wings. 
Are  n't  we  going  to  have  a  great  time?" 

Adam  Breed  followed  them  frowning,  smoothing  his 
mustache,  and  smiling  into  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

MAY  CA'LINE  ENTERTAINS 

THE  news  spread  through  the  village  like  wildfire. 
Hetty  Woodward,  at  her  post  the  next  morning, 
was  a  bureau  of  information  and  carried  herself  with 
an  air  of  solemn  importance. 

To  the  eager  questioning  with  which  she  was  besieged 
all  day  she  told  her  story  with  increasing  embellishment, 
ending  always  with  the  declaration,  "With  my  own 
ears.  I  heard  it  with  my  own  ears,"  as  if  she  might 
possibly  have  borrowed  another  pair  for  the  occasion. 

May  Ca'line,  remembering  that  Martha  Berry  had 
given  Willis  Frothingham  a  home  during  his  labors, 
sent  a  message  by  him  to  her  old  friend. 

"I  can  tell  you  this  is  all  very  excitin'  to  us,  Mr. 
Frothin'ham,"  Martha  answered.  "There  is  n't  any 
body  could  come  back  to  this  town  more  welcome  than 
Mrs.  Laird." 

"And  when  I  return,"  said  Frothingham,  "I  hope 
you  will  welcome  me,  too,  Mrs.  Berry.  I  expect  to  be 
back  once  or  twice  —  there  is  no  telling.  I  have  the 
Leacock  habit,  you  see." 

Martha  assured  him  that  his  room  would  be  always 
waiting.  "  I  hate  to  see  your  trunk  go  out.  I  do,  really," 
she  said  warmly.  "You've  made  this  town  do  the  most 
guessin'  it  ever  did  in  its  life.  What  7  thought  was  you 
was  goin'  to  be  married."  She  laughed  and  reddened. 

"Well,  I  hope  you've  guessed  right,"  he  replied.  "If 
I'm  not,  it  won't  be  my  fault.  I'm  going  over  to  the 


MAY  C A9 LINE  ENTERTAINS  287 

store  now  to  say  good-bye  to  Mr.  Berry.  You  Ve  both 
been  awfully  good  to  me  and  I  'm  going  to  consider  my 
little  room  upstairs  one  of  my  homes.  Good-bye." 

Frothingham  thereupon  embarrassed  Martha  ex 
tremely  by  kissing  the  hand  she  gave  him,  and  departed. 

She  sighed.  "We're  goin'  to  miss  him  somethin' 
awful,"  she  thought  regretfully.  "He  did  praise  my 
greens  so  much." 

He  breezed  into  the  post-office,  which  was  full  of 
eager  villagers,  Simon  Berry  among  them,  and  was 
greeted  with  smiles  and  almost  tears.  "We  hate  to  lose 
you,  Mr.  Frothin'ham,"  was  heard  on  every  side. 

"  But  see  what  you  get  in  exchange,"  he  returned,  — 
"a  house  full  of  nice  people." 

Miss  Woodward  regretted  to  admit  publicly  that 
there  was  any  inmost  plan  of  the  family  of  which  she 
was  ignorant,  but  curiosity  prevailed. 

"Is  Mr.  Breed  goin'  to  stay  long?"  she  inquired. 

"No;  he  returns  with  me  this  morning.  Doubtless 
he  will  be  back,  off  and  on,  to  see  how  Leacock  treats 
his  daughter." 

"I  s'pose,  however,  the  owner  will  be  with  us  the  rest 
o'  the  summer,"  said' Hetty  with  an  air  of  repressing  a 
yawn  in  the  midst  of  the  question. 

"  I  just  told  you  he  is  going  back  with  me,"  returned 
Frothingham.  "You're  excited,  my  dear  Hetty." 

The  postmistress  looked  around  triumphantly  on  the 
assembled  crowd.  "Is  Joe  Laird  goin'  back  with  you?" 
she  asked  with  a  toss  of  the  head. 

"You  appear  to  know  the  gentleman." 

"Know  him!  I've  chased  him  off  my  cherry  trees 
more  times  than  I  can  mention." 

"H'm."    Willis  Frothingham  looked  thoughtful,  cer- 


288  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

tain  reminiscences  of  last  evening  flitting  through  his 
mind.  "Does  he  —  does  he  chase  easily?"  he  asked. 

"Does  he!  He  used  to  have  more  come-backs  than  a 
gnat;  but  now  he's  a  big  man.  We  have  to  forget  all 
that.  You  seem  to  think,  Mr.  Frothin'ham,"  —  Hetty 
gathered  her  audience  with  a  sweep  of  the  eyes,  — 
"you  seem  to  think  Mr.  Breed  owns  that  old  home." 

Willis  Frothingham  smiled.  "I  was  under  that  im 
pression." 

"A  good  joke,"  said  Hetty,  leaning  over  the  counter 
and  shaking  a  skinny  forefinger  at  him. 

"Sorry  I  could  n't  be  more  frank  about  the  plans," 
went  on  the  young  man,  "but  he  wished  the  affair  to  be 
kept  sub  rosa" 

"Well,  you  had  us  guessin'  a  long  time,  but  now  you 
can  take  your  turn,"  said  Hetty.  "Don't  you  really 
know  Mr.  Breed  has  made  a  present  o'  that  place?" 

"To  his  daughter?"  asked  Frothingham,  with  unmis 
takably  sincere  interest. 

"No-o,"  returned  Hetty,  drawing  herself  up  proudly 
and  playing  to  the  gallery,  —  "to  Joseph  Laird." 

"Is  it  possible?"    Frothingham  frowned. 

"With  these  ears,"  —  the  postmistress  pointed  to  the 
organs,  which  in  her  case  were  unusually  evident,  —  "I 
heard  him  with  my  own  ears." 

The  architect  stared  at  her.  "Miss  Woodward,"  he 
said,  "ears,  too?  I  knew  you  had  a  nose  unrivaled  in 
New  England,  but  with  those  ears  added,  the  detective 
bureaus  would  be  fighting  to  secure  your  services  if 
they  knew  of  you." 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Breed  had  his  own  reasons,"  — 
Hetty's  voice  rose  to  a  high  key  and  everybody  was  at 
liberty  to  see  that  she  knew  those  reasons  well  and  in 


MAY  CA'LINE  ENTERTAINS  289 

fact  had  been  consulted,  —  "but  it  was  a  great  surprise 
to  Joe.  That  was  plain." 

"Yes,  Het  told  us  last  night,"  put  in  Simon  Berry. 
"I  s'posed  you  knew  it.  Joe's  stayin'  on,  ain't  he? 
Pretty  well  broke  up  he  is,  I  s'pose.  That  was  an  awful 
thing  about  his  wife.  S'pose  you  knew  about  it." 

"Yes,  I  saw  it  in  the  papers.  I  was  n't  acquainted 
with  him  at  the  time,  but  it  spoke  of  his  being  Mr. 
Breed's  secretary.  I'm  sincerely  sorry  he  lost  his  wife. 
Dreadful  thing." 

"I  s'pose  he'll  stay  here  for  a  time  with  his  mother 
less  babes,"  said  Hetty. 

Frothingham  regarded  her  quizzically.  "I  don't  see 
how  he  has  happened  not  to  tell  you  that  he  is  leaving 
for  California  at  once.  I'll  rebuke  him  for  the  omission. 
There's  the  car.  I  must  go,  but  it  is  n't  a  long  farewell. 
I'm  coming  back  after  a  while;  Mrs.  Berry  says  I  may. 
Good-bye,  Hetty,  queen  of  the  sleuths." 

He  shook  hands  with  Simon  Berry,  and  the  post 
mistress,  and  waved  his  hat  to  the  others.  "Good-bye, 
all.  Don't  forget  me."  And  then  he  went  out  to  the 
car,  entered,  and  rolled  away  toward  the  Laird  place, 
all  eyes  following  the  motor. 

That  night  Hetty  looked  through  all  the  j's  in  the 
antiquated  dictionary  to  find  "  Slooth." 

Arrived  at  the  house,  Willis  Frothingham  found  Joe 
Laird  romping  with  his  children  on  the  grass.  When 
the  twins  had  been  told  that  they  would  not  see  their 
daddy  again  for  some  time,  they  demanded  a  number 
of  tossings  to  last  until  his  return.  He  was  laughing 
and  groaning  on  the  last  lap  when  Adam  Breed  and 
the  ladies  came  out  from  the  house  and  the  architect 
arrived. 


290  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Vivian,  her  conscience  not  entirely  easy  concerning 
the  amount  of  attention  she  had  paid  Mr.  Frothingham 
last  evening,  was  very  cordial  and  allowed  him  to  lead 
her  a  little  apart.  He  told  her  what  arrangements  he 
had  made,  about  her  car  and  she  thanked  him. 

"I'm  coming  out  to  see  you  again  pretty  soon,"  he 
said  gravely. 

"Don't  strain  friendship  too  far,"  she  replied  gayly. 
"We  do  get  a  pretty  good  breeze  here,  but  you  have 
sacrificed  yourself  to  a  whole  summer  of  inland  life. 
I  think  you  must  need  the  sea." 

"You  have  n't  had  it  yourself,"  he  returned,  still 
grave. 

"No,  and  the  chief  need  I  seemed  to  have  now  was 
to  get  away  from  people.  Mrs.  Laird  is  going  to  tether 
me  out  in  the  grass  here,  untying  me  only  for  meals 
and  to  do  some  motoring,  and  nobody  is  going  to  be 
allowed  to  speak  to  me." 

"Do  you  mean  you  don't  want  me  to  come?" 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  mean  that,"  returned  the  girl,  look 
ing  at  him  with  her  characteristic  frank  directness; 
"I'm  only  advising  you  for  your  own  comfort  to  visit 
me  at  Rose  Ledge  instead,  a  month  or  so  hence." 

"I  shall  come  if  you  don't  forbid  me,"  he  answered. 

"Be  it  on  your  own  head,  then,"  she  answered 
brightly. 

"Come,  Frothingham,"  called  Adam  Breed,  "all 
aboard." 

May  Ca'line  was  standing  with  her  hand  through  her 
tall  boy's  arm.  They  had  made  their  adieux  upstairs  in 
her  room  and  her  eyes  were  tinged  with  red.  It  was 
fortunate  for  her  that  she  had  had  that  affectionate 
interview,  for  at  present  she  was  sharing  the  common 


MAY  C A9 LINE  ENTERTAINS  291 

fate  of  mothers.  Joe  heard  not  one  word  she  was  saying 
because  Vivian  was  standing  apart  with  Frothingham 
under  an  elm  tree  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  would  see  her 
no  more. 

"I  shall  be  coming  back  one  of  these  days  to  look  you 
over,"  said  Adam  Breed  to  May  Ca'line,  "and  see  how 
everything  goes  here." 

"Bring  Ferdy  with  you,"  she  answered.  "I  hope  he 
will  soon  be  able  to  do  a  little  work  with  a  tutor.  I 
know  one  of  my  friends  would  take  such  a  man  to  board, 
and  would  n't  Ferdy  be  happier  here  than  so  much 
alone  at  Rose  Ledge?" 

Adam  Breed  nodded.  "Indeed,  he  would,  probably. 
But  how  about  Mrs.  Chetwyn?" 

"There  is  no  space  in  spirit,"  replied  May  Ca'line. 

Mr.  Breed  blinked,  then  regarded  her  reddened  eye 
lids.  "Then  it  won't  make  so  much  difference  if  Joe  is 
in  California,  will  it?" 

She  gave  him  a  flickering  smile.  "That's  taking  a 
mean  advantage,  Adam.  Joe,  do  you  let  him  tease  me?" 

"H'm?  What?"  asked  Joe,  dragging  his  thoughts 
away  from  the  elm  tree.  Why  did  Frothingham  have  to 
monopolize  her  at  this  time?  He  was  not  going  across 
the  continent! 

"Frothingham,"  called  Adam  Breed  again,  "we're 
going." 

The  two  young  people  heard  and  approached. 

Vivian  kissed  her  father.  "Be  a  good  boy,"  she  said. 
"I  don't  know  how  far  you  can  be  trusted  without 
Mr.  Laird." 

She  smiled  at  Joe,  and  had  he  known  what  a  different 
light  illumined  her  eyes  from  that  which  had  been  shin 
ing  on  his  rival  he  would  have  been  comforted.  Not 


292  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

that  Joe  believed  he  wanted  comfort.  What  he  wanted 
was  a  Spartan  philosophy.  He  had  even  made  up  his 
mind  what  was  to  be  his  peroration  on  leaving  this  star 
among  girls.  He  kissed  his  children  and  his  mother  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  Vivian. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  be  leaving  my  mother  with  you, 
Miss  Vivian.  I  shall  hear  through  her  how  the  simple 
life  agrees  with  you." 

Adam  Breed  watched  the  young  fellow's  face  as  he 
spoke.  If  the  latter  had  any  hopes,  none  appeared  in 
his  matter-of-fact  manner. 

Vivian  took  a  sealed  letter  from  the  front  of  her 
blouse  and  handed  it  to  him.  "To  read  on  the  second 
day  of  your  trip,"  she  said. 

The  light  that  flashed  over  Joe's  face  as  he  received 
the  envelope  transformed  it. 

"Confound  the  boy,"  thought  Adam  Breed.  "He's 
got  it,  too;  and  as  for  her  —  she's  the  —  the  limit." 

The  three  men  entered  the  car  and  waved  their  hats 
as  it  rolled  away.  Tears  dripped  down  May  Ca'line's 
cheeks  as  she  watched  the  receding  motor  and  she 
pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips.  She  turned  to 
Vivian  with  an  April  smile.  "Anybody  who  could  cry 
under  these  circumstances  ought  to  be  whipped,"  she 
said.  She  could  not  explain  what  a  short  time  it  had 
seemed  to  her  that  she  had  had  her  boy  with  no  inimical 
shadow  standing  between  them.  Her  thoughts  ran  on 
in  a  strain  very  grateful  to  Adam  Breed.  Had  he  not 
said  that  he  was  sending  Joe  far  away  because  he  loved 
him?  Perhaps  he  had  discerned  the  state  of  the  boy's 
heart,  and  certainly  she  could  see  that  under  all  the 
circumstances  it  was  in  the  interests  of  everybody  to 
have  him  removed  from  the  scene. 


MAY  CA'LINE  ENTERTAINS  293 

"  It  must  be  a  comfort  to  you  that  he  is  going  to  see 
his  sister,"  said  Vivian.  She  had  her  own  comfort.  It 
was  the  look  Joe  had  given  her  when  she  handed  him 
the  letter. 

"I  suppose  you  know  nothing  of  village  life,"  said 
May  Ca'line,  giving  her  eyes  a  final  pressure.  "You 
are  going  to  be  amused  by  some  things  here,  but  I  have 
old  friends  who  will  be  eager  to  come  to  see  me  and  I  'm 
sure  you  will  be  patient.  They  were  so  good  to  me  when 
I  needed  it;  before  I  went  to  Joe." 

"Why,  of  course,  Cherie,"  rejoined  the  girl  warmly; 
"and  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  for  them  you  must  let 
me  know.  If  they  have  n't  cars  perhaps  you  would  like 
to  take  them  driving." 

"Cars!"  May  Ca'line  lifted  eyes  and  hands  skyward. 
"Those  they  have  here  are  strictly  for  business.  There 
are  two  women  I  should  like  to  invite  to  lunch." 

"Oh,  lunch!"  cried  the  twins,  who  had  been  letting 
off  steam  turning  somersaults  on  the  grass.  "Let's 
have  a  picnic." 

"Why  don't  you  have  your  friends  to-day,"  said 
Vivian,  "  and  let  the  children  and  me  picnic  under  the 
trees?  Then  you  can  have  an  undisturbed  visit." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  shouted  the  twins. 

"Hush!"  exclaimed  May  Ca'line.  "Will  you  take 
good  care  of  Miss  Vivian  if  I  let  you  ?  She  has  come  out 
here  to  rest  and  grow  strong,  and  if  you  are  going  to  be 
very  good  to  her  I'll  trust  you.  Will  you?" 

The  twins  danced  up  and  down  and  eyed  Vivian  judi 
cially.  She  had  been  very  nice  to  them  that  day  at 
Rose  Ledge,  but  they  had  never  seen  her  since.  They 
were  inclined  to  like  her  because  she  was  so  pretty  and 
because  she  helped  daddy  the  day  the  shovel  boy  was 


294  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

nearly  drowned.  Nevertheless  they  had  not  proved  her 
as  a  playmate. 

"We'd  rather  have  you,  grandmother,"  remarked 
Ella. 

Vivian  laughed.   "Good  for  you,  kiddie,"  she  said. 

"I'm  going  to  have  company,"  said  May  Ca'line, 
"and  I  can't  come  with  you.  You  may  have  a  picnic 
by  the  brook." 

"And  if  you  don't  behave  yourselves,"  said  Vivian, 
"I'll  throw  you  in."  She  scowled  at  them  with  a  fierce, 
big-eyed  expression  that  delighted  their  souls. 

They  began  jumping  up  and  down  nearer  to  her. 

"Do  you  know  any  stories?"  they  demanded. 

"Don't  admit  it,  my  dear.  You'll  get  yourself  into 
business,"  said  May  Ca'line.  "I  don't  want  you  to 
trouble  yourself  a  bit  with  the  children  while  you  are 
here." 

Vivian  looked  coolly  down  at  the  bobbing  heads.  "I 
suppose,  of  course,  you  know  all  about  the  prince  who 
turned  into  a  white  rat  so  he  could  eat  through  a  cheese 
door  and  rescue  a  princess  from  the  cruel  giant?" 

"No,  no,  we  don't!"  shrieked  the  twins,  alive  with 
anticipation.  "Tell  us!  Tell  us!" 

"Oh,  unwise  girl,"  laughed  May  Ca'line.  "I  warned 
you.  Scamper,  children,  and  tell  Nora  you  want  sand 
wiches  for  three  at  noon." 

The  two  pairs  of  legs  twinkled  away. 

"These  two  friends  I  spoke  of  are  dear  to  me,"  said 
May  Ca'line.  "One  of  them  gave  Mr.  Frothingham  a 
home.  You  must  let  them  look  at  you,  for  they  knew 
your  father  when  he  was  here  a  long  time  ago,  and  they 
will  be  so  interested  to  see  his  daughter." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  them;  but  looking  at  people 


MAY  C A9 LINE  ENTERTAINS  295 

is  all  I'm  going  to  do.  I  see  some  promising-looking 
woods  over  there,  and  I  feel  it  coming  on  that  I  shall 
disappear  somewhere  most  of  the  time  and  study  this 
new  philosophy  of  ours.  What  Mrs.  Chetwyn  has 
brought  to  Ferdy  is  undeniable." 

May  Ca'line  eyed  the  girl  happily.  "That  is  what 
we  must  both  do  this  summer,"  she  answered.  "I'm 
so  full,  Vivian,  of  rejoicing  in  this  harmonious,  beauti 
ful  home,  and  Joe's  prosperity,  and  your  father's  kind 
ness,  I  know  the  best  way  to  show  my  gratitude  is  to 
remember  the  Giver  of  all  good  and  learn  more  about 
Him  and  keep  closer  to  Him." 

"And  remember,  Cherie,  this  is  your  home,  not  mine. 
You  spoke  a  minute  ago  as  if  asking  my  permission  to 
entertain  your  friends.  I'm  going  to  be  absolutely  irre 
sponsible,  you  know,  and  the  idlest  thing  in  the  land. 
It's  your  house,  and  your  cook,  remember." 

"My  cook!"  repeated  May  Ca'line  with  a  start.  "I 
shall  have  to  think  'Fear  not'  when  I  go  near  her.  She's 
such  a  grand  person." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  She's  as  pleased  as  Punch  to  get 
into  the  country  and  she  likes  Nora." 

"I  wonder,"  said  May  Ca'line,  "if  we  had  n't  better 
go  back  to  country  v/ays  and  have  dinner  at  noon  while 
we  are  here?" 

"Are  you  consulting  me,  Cherie?"  returned  Vivian, 
with  a  threatening  frown.  "Consulting  a  vegetable? 
What  do  you  mean,  madam?  I'm  not  going  to  know 
half  as  much  as  Ella  does." 

"That's  right,  my  lamb.  Forgive  me  for  forgetting." 
May  Ca'line  laughed  and  started  for  the  house. 

The  motor  drove  up,  the  chauffeur  jumped  out,  and 
came  to  meet  her.  He  touched  his  cap. 


296  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Laird.  Mr.  Breed  told  me  to 
leave  the  car  here  every  pleasant  day  and  to  put  myself 
at  your  orders." 

May  Ca'line  looked  around  rather  helplessly  at 
Vivian,  but  the  girl  was  strolling  away.  Her  attitude 
emphasized  the  fact  that  all  this  was  none  of  her  affair. 

The  chauffeur  smiled  at  the  little  woman's  evident 
embarrassment.  "My  name  is  Thomas,"  he  said,  "and 
I'm  to  make  myself  useful." 

This  news  was  cheering.  May  Ca'line  smiled  hope 
fully.  "There  is  the  grass,"  she  said;  "I  thought  this 
morning  it  ought  to  be  cut." 

Thomas  advanced  and  looked  about  with  a  critical 
eye.  "It  should,  ma'am,"  he  said,  "and  the  vines  could 
do  with  some  nailin'  up." 

"Oh,  do  you  like  gardening?"  asked  May  Ca'line, 
clasping  her  hands. 

"I'd  rather  be  at  the  ground  than  the  car  any  time, 


ma'am." 


"How  good!  There  are  so  many  things  I've  thought 
of  already  that  I'd  like  to  do." 

"Let's  do  'em,  ma'am.  Ellen '11  give  me  a  place  to 
keep  a  suit  I  can  work  in,  and  now  I'll  go  after  the 
lawn-mower." 

"Very  well."  May  Ca'line  viewed  his  determined 
move  toward  the  back  of  the  house.  "Oh,  Thomas," 
she  said  rather  loudly  to  attract  his  attention.  He 
paused,  and  May  Ca'line,  experiencing  the  feelings 
Aladdin  must  have  entertained  the  first  time  he  rubbed 
the  lamp,  continued:  "At  noon  I  shall  want  you  to  call 
for  two  ladies  who  will  be  coming  to  lunch  with  me." 

It  worked.  Thomas  touched  his  cap.  "Very  well, 
ma'am,"  he  returned,  and  proceeded  toward  the  shed. 


MAY  C A' LINE  ENTERTAINS  297 

Shortly  afterward  Martha  Berry  was  called  to  the 
telephone. 

"Hello,  Martha." 

"Why,  May  Ca'line,  is  it  you?" 

"I  can't  wait  to  see  you  and  Hetty  and  I  want  you 
both  to  come  over  to  dinner  with  me  to-day.  Don't  say 
you  can't.  Leave  Simon  alone  for  once." 

Martha  Berry  was  looking  highly  excited.  "Well,  I 
s'pose  I  could  leave  his  victuals  here  for  him.  I  could 
get  him  started." 

"Certainly.  We  don't  need  to  have  dinner  until  one." 

"Oh,  he'd  be  all  through  by  that  time." 

"I  thought  so.  I've  talked  with  Hetty  and  told  her 
the  car  would  call  first  for  her  and  then  pick  you  up." 

"I'll  be  ready,"  returned  Martha,  rather  tremulous. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  handsome  open  car  rolled 
up  to  her  door.  In  it  sat  or  rather  lolled  Hetty  Wood 
ward,  in  her  Sunday  best  and  trying  to  look  sweetly 
unconscious. 

The  chauffeur  jumped  down  and  held  open  the  door. 
Martha  stumbled  on  the  step,  but  finally  entered,  and 
Hetty  received  her  graciously.  "Fine  day,  isn't  it?" 
she  said  carelessly. 

Mrs.  Berry  examined  the  satin-smooth  linen  cushion 
covers,  the  door  closed,  and  they  were  off. 

"Now,  ain't  this  clever  o'  May  Ca'line,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "not  to  waste  one  day  before  sendin'  for  us? 
My,  but  she's  the  loyal,  lovin'  little  heart!" 

"And  wait  till  you  see  her,"  returned  Hetty,  also 
sotto  voce.  "Such  a  changed  bein'  as  she  is." 

"Don't  you  remember,"  said  Martha,  "how  we  said 
all  she  needed  was  prosperity  and  kindness  to  grow 
young  again?" 


298  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

May  Ca'line  ran  down  the  steps  and  out  on  the  walk 
to  meet  the  arrivals  and  embraced  her  guests  warmly. 
She  wore  the  violet  and  white  gown  and  they  looked  at 
her  admiringly  as  the  three  moved  toward  the  house. 
A  young  girl,  delicate,  beautiful,  kind-eyed,  came  out 
on  the  piazza  and  May  Ca'line  presented  Miss  Breed, 
who  shook  hands  with  them  and  expressed  her  pleasure 
in  meeting  her  father's  old  friends. 

The  twins  stormed  out  of  the  house,  carrying  baskets. 
"Joe's  children,"  said  May  Ca'line. 

Martha  and  Hetty  stooped  to  greet  them  and  Ella 
pulled  back. 

"We  don't  like  to  be  kissed,"  she  announced. 

"Ella  is  going  to  be  a  polite  little  girl  sometime,"  said 
May  Ca'line.  "Miss  Breed  is  taking  them  on  a  picnic 
to-day,"  she  added,  and  the  three  passed  on. 

"Mr.  Frothin'ham  took  us  into  the  house  and  let  us 
see  it  before  you  came,"  said  Hetty  as  their  hostess  led 
them  in. 

"And  we  little  thought  then  that  you  were  comin'," 
added  Martha  as  they  went  upstairs  to  lay  off  their 
wraps  in  May  Ca'line's  boudoir. 

"You  knew  as  much  about  it  as  I  did,"  she  answered. 
"Did  any  one  ever  have  such  a  surprise?  Is  n't  it  a 
fairy  place?" 

"It  seems  Mr.  Breed  gave  the  house  to  Joe,"  said 
Hetty. 

She  watched  scrutinizingly  to  see  the  hostess's  color 
rise  and  was  not  disappointed,  but  May  Ca'line  an 
swered  very  quietly:  "Yes,  you  know  Joe  has  been  with 
Mr.  Breed  almost  ever  since  the  twins  were  born. 
Plenty  of  time  to  create  a  very  close  attachment,  you 


see." 


MAY  C A' LINE  ENTERTAINS  299 

Martha  regarded  her  fondly.  "I  don't  know  as  you 
care  to  remember  the  past  much,  May  Ca'line,  but  I 
can't  help  thinkin'  of  the  day  Hetty  and  I  packed  your 
trunk  to  go  away,  right  in  this  room." 

"Indeed,  I  do  remember  it,  Martha,"  —  May  Ca'line 
threw  an  arm  around  her,  —  "and  I  remember,  too, 
the  desperate  day  you  came  over  and  cooked  in  my 
kitchen  and  fed  me  so  kindly.  When  Hetty  wrote  me  of 
the  changes  here  I  had  n't  the  remotest  idea  of  its  hav 
ing  anything  to  do  with  us,  and  I  made  up  my  mind 
never  to  come  back  to  Leacock  again;  but  you  see  man 
proposes  and  God  disposes.  Joe  could  be  happy  going 
to  California  on  business  and  to  see  Amy,  leaving  us 
safe  in  this  nest  of  luxury.  That  old  kitchen  where  you 
cooked  that  sad  day  is  the  dining-room  now,  and  my 
summer  kitchen  has  been  made  over"  —  May  Ca'line 
dropped  her  voice  to  a  whisper  —  "for  the  grand  cook 
from  Rose  Ledge." 

"Where's  that?"  asked  Hetty  eagerly. 

"Mr.  Breed's  summer  place.  They  had  her  here  when 
we  arrived.  The  whole  thing  was  arranged  for  a  sur 
prise  for  Joe  and  me.  Come,  you  must  be  hungry." 

They  moved  to  the  charming  dining-room  and  sat 
down  at  a  table  whose  linen,  china,  and  glassware  were 
a  joy  to  the  eye.  Nora  waited  on  table. 

"This  is  our  good  Nora,"  said  May  Ca'line,  "who 
took  care  of  us  in  the  city.  It  would  n't  be  homelike  to 
me  without  Nora." 

The  guests  nodded  and  Nora  smiled.  She  glanced 
through  the  window  occasionally  at  the  man  cutting  the 
grass.  She  was  relieved  of  her  awe  of  the  liveried  Thomas 
since  seeing  him  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

"Do  you   remember,  May  Ca'line,"   said  Martha, 


300  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"how  your  flowers  used  to  grow  and  how  you  said  that 
when  your  ship  came  in  you  would  have  a  lawn-mower 
and  a  hose?" 

"Yes,"  responded  May  Ca'line  gayly,  "and  you  see 
the  ship  came,  and  sure  enough  they  were  on  board." 

"I  do  wish,"  thought  Hetty,  whose  little  finger  was 
elegantly  raised  as  she  handled  her  cup,  "that  Martha 
would  stop  savin'  'Do  you  remember?'  Can't  she  have 
the  decency  to  forget  some  things  when  she  sits  down 
to  victuals  like  these?" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

BY  THE  BROOKSIDE 

TWO  weeks  passed  before  Adam  Breed  came  again 
to  Leacock,  and  by  that  time  the  new  household 
was  in  running  order.  May  Ca'line  had,  not  without 
some  difficulty,  initiated  the  twins  into  daily  duties. 
They  had  to  make  their  beds,  put  away  all  their  own 
belongings,  and  dust  the  room.  Their  protests  were 
loud,  sometimes,  when  tempting  pleasures  called  out 
side,  but  the  children  found  out  two  strange  things 
about  their  grandmother.  She  never  slapped  them  and 
she  never  gave  up.  She  explained  to  them  that  the  nur 
sery  must  be  neat,  not  because  she  wanted  it  so,  but 
because  it  was  right.  She  explained  to  them  that  she 
had  to  obey  Right  just  as  much  as  they  did,  and  she 
interested  them  to  play  that  the  photographer  was  com 
ing  every  morning  to  take  a  picture  of  the  nursery  and 
nothing  must  be  left  about  that  would  n't  look  well  in 
the  photograph. 

Meanwhile  May  Ca'line  was  doing  a  great  deal  of 
thinking.  Vivian  was  away  most  of  the  time.  She  had 
found  a  shady  hilltop  where  she  took  her  books  and 
writing  every  day.  Joe  Laird  had  answered  her  train 
letter,  and  while  he  did  not  ask  her  to  write  again  she 
found  between  the  lines  a  longing  to  which  she  re 
sponded  by  a  newsy  epistle. 

After  the  first  rush  of  wonder  at  her  new  surroundings 
had  subsided,  May  Ca'line  began  to  realize  the  flatter 
ing  implication  of  all  that  had  occurred.  "A  rich  man 


302  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

amuses  himself,"  she  told  herself.  She  fell  into  the  habit 
of  mental  argument  with  the  purpose  of  keeping  her 
head  entirely  cool.  She  looked  at  the  situation  judi 
cially.  Adam  Breed  had  bought  this  place  and  reno 
vated  it  in  precisely  the  spirit  in  which  the  child  of  the 
rich  obtains  a  novel  and  expensive  toy. 

"No,  sir,"  she  soliloquized  firmly,  "you  have  caused 
me  too  much  trouble  in  the  past  for  me  ever  to  fall  under 
the  spell  again.  I'm  free  and  I'm  going  to  remain  free." 

She  sometimes  wished  Vivian  were  not  Adam  Breed's 
daughter  so  she  might  talk  of  him  freely.  Conditions 
might  take  on  a  lighter  aspect  if  she  could  discuss  them. 
Vivian  often  spoke  of  her  father.  She  dwelt  on  his 
popularity  in  society  and  how  he  was  courted  by  the 
amiable  ladies  who  had  in  turn  acted  as  her  chaperons. 

"I  tell  daddy  he's  very  hard-hearted,"  she  said  once. 

"I've  never  heard  you  speak  of  your  mother,"  re 
turned  May  Ca'line. 

"She  died  when  Ferdy  was  a  baby,"  returned  the 
girl.  "I'm  not  even  sure  that  I  remember  her;  but  I 
like  to  think  I  do.  I  wear  her  picture  always."  She 
drew  a  locket  from  her  bosom  and  opened  it. 

May  Ca'line  examined  the  youthful  face  with  inter 
est.  "How  lovely!  It  might  be  you,  dear." 

"That's  what  daddy  says,"  returned  the  girl,  closing 
the  locket  and  dropping  it  again  on  its  slender  chain 
underneath  her  dress.  "Daddy  has  been  a  wonderful 
father;  a  wonderful  man." 

"Too  wonderful  for  me,"  thought  May  Ca'line,  "and 
when  I  have  gone  so  long  past  wanting  him,  why  do 
these  silly  little  questions  keep  popping  up  in  my  mind, 
just  because  he  has  done  this  great  kindness,  partly 
simply  as  an  amusement  for  himself  and  partly  for  Joe 


BY  THE  BROOKSIDE  303 

—  yes,  and  for  me?  Of  course,  I  have  to  know  that,  but 
it  means  nothing  more.  I  'm  not  going  to  be  scared  into 
such  a  belief  nor  tempted  into  it." 

A  relief  to  her  ruminations  came  when  Adam  Breed 
arrived  after  that  two  weeks,  for  he  brought  with  him 
Ferdy  and  his  tutor.  Martha  Berry  had  agreed  to 
board  the  latter,  as  May  Ca'line  hoped,  and  Ferdy 
embraced  his  little  hostess  with  a  fervor  which  his  father 
viewed  with  satisfaction. 

To  the  twins,  however,  the  arrival  brought  the  most 
joyful  excitement  of  all,  for  as  the  motor  drove  up  they 
saw  sitting  beside  the  chauffeur  the  splendid  collie  dog 
they  had  romped  with  at  Rose  Ledge.  May  Ca'line 
had  to  drag  them  from  a  violent  embrace  of  Adam 
Breed's  legs  in  their  frenzy  of  gratitude. 

"  Can  he  stay,  oh,  can  he  stay? "  they  shrieked  joyfully. 

"If  you  invite  him,  perhaps  he  will,"  was  the  reply. 
"I  noticed  he  seemed  a  little  lonely  at  Rose  Ledge. 
Here,  Laddie." 

With  a  spring  the  handsome  creature  landed  on  the 
walk  and  the  children  ran  to  greet  him. 

"If  we  lacked  anything,"  laughed  May  Ca'line,  "it 
was  that  dog.  You're  too  kind." 

"I  thought  he  might  help  you  with  those  young 
Turks,"  said  Adam  Breed.  "What  do  you  think  of  this, 
Ferdy?"  For  his  son  was  looking  about  curiously.  " It's 
not  so  cool  as  at  Rose  Ledge," 

"Nor  so  lonely,"  said  Ferdy.  He  smiled  at  his  host 
ess,  fresh  and  fair  in  her  white  gown.  "What  have  you 
been  doing,  Mrs.  Laird?  You're  prettier  than  ever." 

"What  a  way  to  talk  to  a  grandmother,"  she  re 
turned.  "Wait  till  you  see  Vivian." 

"Where  is  she?"  asked  her  father,  looking  about. 


304  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

"Off  on  her  hilltop.  You  know  Leacock  is  on  a  ridge, 
that's  why  it  is  rather  nice  here  in  summer,  and  Vivian 
has  found  a  high  knoll  where  she  says  the  pines  sing; 
and  she  likes  to  read  and  write  there." 

"Letters,  eh?"  said  Adam  Breed,  drawing  his  brows 
together.  Ferdy  strolled  away  toward  the  spot  where 
the  twins  arid  Laddie  were  rolling  on  the  turf.  "Does 
she  write  to  California?" 

May  Ca'line  assumed  a  politely  blank  expression.  "  I 
don't  know.  Has  she  many  friends  there?" 

"We  have  a  mutual  friend.  What  do  you  hear  from 
him?" 

"Are  you  talking  about  Joe?" 

"Yes.  What  does  he  say  for  himself?  He  talks  only 
business  to  me." 

"He  writes  very  short  letters,"  returned  May  Ca'line. 
"He  has  visited  his  sister  Amy."  She  smiled  at  some 
memory.  "He  says  they  don't  talk  the  same  language. 
Oh,  it's  hard,  Adam,"  -the  little  woman  clasped  her 
hands  in  her  characteristic  fervent  gesture,  —  "it  is 
hard  never  to  see  one's  own  daughter;  and  it  does  n't 
make  it  a  bit  easier  that  she  is  perfectly  contented  with 
her  husband  and  child." 

"H'm,"  said  Adam  Breed.  "We  shall  have  to  go  out 
there  some  day." 

May  Ca'line  blinked  and  swallowed. 

"Joe  will  have  to  go  back  periodically,"  went  on 
Mr.  Breed.  "We'll  take  the  trip  some  day  in  my  pri 
vate  car." 

There  was  a  little  surging  of  excitement  in  May 
Ca'line's  ears.  Much  that  Vivian  had  told  her  of  their 
society  life  and  her  father's  popularity  among  the  seats 
of  the  mighty  rushed  over  her. 


BY  THE  BROOKSIDE  305 

His  private  car!  If  only  he  would  n't  say  and  do 
things  that  caused  her  heart  to  jump  up.  She  deter 
mined  to  make  her  own  position  clear. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  go  West  with  Joe  some  day,  but  I 
am  very  unenterprising,  if  you  call  it  that,  to  be  per 
fectly  contented  in  a  little  corner  of  the  country  like 
this.  City  life  does  n't  attract  me  at  all  and  I  hope  it 
will  be  right  for  me  to  stay  on  right  here.  It  is  ambition 
enough  for  me  and  will  fill  my  life  full  to  make  a  good 
man  and  woman  of  those  two  children." 

Adam  Breed  regarded  her  with  that  quizzical,  ad 
miring  look  she  had  come  to  recognize. 

"Hooray  for  Cherie,"  he  said.  "May  the  continua 
tion  of  the  lecture  take  place  on  the  piazza?  I'm 
thirsty.  Who  have  we  over  there  with  the  hose?"  he 
added  as  they  moved  toward  the  house. 

"That's  Thomas,  and  he  is  the  best  man.  We  have 
such  good  times  planning  and  planting.  You  can't  do 
very  much  the  middle  of  August  but  plan  for  next  year, 
but  he  takes  such  an  interest  and  he's  so  intelligent. 
Vivian  is  angelic  about  letting  me  have  the  car  after 
noons.  She  prefers  her  lonely  rambles,  so  I'm  able  to 
give  such  pleasure  to  old  friends  here,  driving.  I  put 
them  in  the  back  of  the  car  and  I  sit  in  front  with 
Thomas  and  we  talk  vines,  and  plants,  and  fertilizer." 

"I'm  glad  you  added  the  last.  The  rest  sounded 
ominous.  There  are  too  many  elopements  with  the 
chauffeur."  The  speaker  looked  around  at  his  com 
panion.  "You're  really  happy,"  he  added  in  a  different 
tone. 

"Oh,  indeed,  I  am,"  May  Ca'line  colored  under  his 
gaze. 

"Happy  enough,"  he  continued  gravely,  "to  forget 


306  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

some  of  those  years  when  I  should  have  looked  after 
you,  and  did  n't?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Adam."  She  longed  to  protest  that  there 
never  had  been  a  moment  when  he  ought  to  have  been 
thinking  of  her,  but  the  right  words  would  not  come. 

"It  is  my  great  comfort.  If  anything  occurs  to  you 
as  desirable  that  is  n't  provided  here,  will  you  tell  me  ? 
—  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Nora  ? "  For  here  the  girl  appeared 
in  the  piazza  door.  "Is  supper  nearly  ready?" 

"Sure,  I'm  seekin'  the  children,  sir,  and  I  see  the 
grand  dog  outside  and  't  is  a  fight  I'll  be  havin'." 

"Give  me  a  drink,  Nora,  and  I'll  capture  them  for 
you  with  my  bow  and  spear." 

Nora,  much  fluttered  and  delighted  by  the  great 
man's  affability,  brought  the  ice  water. 

"I'll  get  them  myself.  Don't  you  trouble,"  said 
May  Ca'line. 

"Why  should  n't  they  have  their  supper  outside?" 
suggested  Adam  Breed.  "I'll  help  you,  Nora." 

The  result  was  that  a  table  was  placed  on  the  lawn, 
and  the  children  ate  there,  supremely  happy  in  the  fact 
that  Laddie  lay  on  the  grass  beside  them  gnawing  a 
bone. 

Mr.  Breed  also  modified  for  them  the  tragedy  of 
having  to  leave  the  dog  at  their  early  bed  hour  by 
promising  that  he  should  sleep  on  their  porch  and  that 
they  would  find  him  there  when  they  waked  up.  It 
may  be  mentioned  here  that  this  was  the  last  time  that 
luxury  was  indulged  in,  as  at  five  o'clock  the  next 
morning  the  whole  family  was  roused  by  sounds  of 
revelry  on  the  nursery  sleeping-porch. 

While  the  children  were  having  their  supper  Ferdy 
volunteered  to  go  to  find  his  sister.  May  Ca'line  gave 


HAPPY  ENOUGH  TO  FORGET  SOME  OF  THOSE  YEARS  WHEN 
I  SHOULD  HAVE  LOOKED  AFTER  YOU,  AND  DID  N?T  ?  " 


BY  THE  BROOKSIDE  307 

him  the  directions,  which  were  very  simple,  as  the  road 
running  by  the  house  continued  up  the  hill,  and  at  the 
other  side  of  the  line  of  woods  which  surmounted  the 
ridge  he  would  find  her. 

May  Ca'line  explained  that  Vivian  was  accountable 
to  no  one,  staying  out  through  the  twilight  when  she 
listed. 

"All  right,"  said  Ferdy,  "but  I'm  interested  in  sup 
per,  so  I  shall  be  back  in  a  short  time  and  I  expect  to 
bring  her  with  me." 

May  Ca'line  watched  his  tall  figure  walk  away,  her 
gaze  filled  with  affection  and  thankfulness. 

The  father  met  her  eyes  with  a  smiling  nod. 

"Going  right  up  the  road  to  health,"  he  said,  "and 
happier  than  I  ever  dared  hope!" 

Ferdy,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  whistling  blithely, 
walked  on.  When  he  found  his  sister  she  was  lying  under 
a  group  of  pine  trees,  her  shoulders  supported  against  a 
rock,  watching  the  descending  sun  as  its  rays  illumined 
a  winding  river  in  the  valley.  Farther  on  was  a  water 
fall,  and  below  that,  a  mill.  The  whir  of  its  wheel  came 
faintly  through  the  stillness.  An  occasional  bird  call 
was  the  only  other  sound. 

The  boy  threw  himself  down  beside  Vivian  and  she 
sat  up  with  a  frightened  start.  Instantly  she  sent  books 
and  papers  flying  with  a  sweep  of  her  hand  and  seized 
him.  He  laughed  at  the  ardor  of  her  greeting,  but  re 
turned  it  heartily.  She  swallowed  a  lump  that  rose  in 
her  throat.  It  was  so  wonderful  to  have  Ferdy  seek  her, 
to  feel  his  embrace,  and  to  know  that  at  last  there  was 
no  misunderstanding  between  them. 

"We  did  n't  know  when  to  expect  you,  or  I  would 
have  been  at  home,"  she  said.  "Have  you  brought 


308  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

your  tutor?  I'm  sure  Rose  Ledge  must  have  been 
dismal  after  Mrs.  Chetwyn  left." 

"I  may  go  back  there,"  said  Ferdy.  "Dad  brought 
Laddie  along,  and  with  those  kids  I  suspect  the  circus 
will  be  chronic  here  at  the  house." 

"I'll  lend  you  my  knoll.  Did  you  ever  hear  or  feel 
more  perfect  quiet  than  this  ?  I  seem  to  hear  the  insects 
in  the  grass." 

Ferdy  nodded  as  he  sat  there,  cross-legged,  regarding 
the  pretty  view. 

"What's  the  idea  of  all  this?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"All  what?" 

"This  move.  What  makes  dad  take  such  an  interest 
in  this  out-of-the-way  village  ?  I  'm  blessed  if  it  did  n't 
seem  so  queer  I  did  n't  like  to  ask  him.  I  heard  him  and 
Frothingham  discussing  figures  and  it  seems  he  has  an 
investment  here  that  sounds  ridiculous." 

Elves  of  mischief  danced  in  Vivian's  eyes.  "He  wanted 
to  make  a  little  present  to  Joe  Laird,"  she  answered. 

"Little  present!"  repeated  the  boy.  "Great  Scott! 
You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  he  really  gave  that  place 
to  Laird." 

"As  true  as  I  sit  here." 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  that?"  asked  Ferdy  in  re 
sentful  surprise. 

"He  did  n't  ask  my  permission,"  returned  Vivian, 
"but  I  would  n't  be  surprised  at  anything  daddy  might 
give  Mr.  Laird,  even  if  it  came  to  be  one  of  us." 

She  favored  her  brother  with  an  exhibition  of  her 
deepest  dimple. 

"Is  he  so  crazy  about  him?"  asked  Ferdy  quickly, 
all  unsuspicious.  "I  like  him  myself,  but  what's  the 
matter?  Has  he  got  daddy  buffaloed?  " 


BY  THE  BROOKSIDE  309 

"Oh,  not  at  all,  but  this  renovated  house  is  the  one 
that  he  was  born  in,  you  know." 

"Pshaw!  What  should  make  dad  sentimental  over 
him?  Dropping  thousands  of  dollars  in  a  village  that's 
asleep  and  snoring,  and  motoring  out  here,  a  Sabbath 
day's  journey,  where  Laird  will  never  have  time  to  come. 
It  sounds  plain  nutty  to  me." 

Vivian  laughed.  "These  railroad  men  are  deep,  you 
know,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  daddy  knows  of  some  won 
derful  road  that's  going  to  run  through  here  and  make 
the  property  tremendously  valuable." 

"Personally,  I've  no  objection  to  a  very  quiet  place 
just  now,"  said  Ferdy.  "The  village  can't  sleep 'too 
deeply  for  me.  If  those  kids  could  just  be  corralled  a 
few  miles  from  the  house." 

"They're  very  nice  children,"  said  Vivian  defensively. 
"Ella  looks  very  like  her  father." 

"Well,  her  lungs  go  him  one  better,"  returned  Ferdy. 
"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Vivian?"  turning  sud 
denly  upon  her.  "Have  you  Lairditis  too?" 

"I  should  like  to  know  who  had  it  first,"  she  an 
swered.  "Did  n't  you  have  a  terrible  case  on  Cherie?" 

"What  Ch6rie?" 

"Joe's  mother.  They  call  her  May  Ca'line  out  here. 
Is  n't  that  quaint?  But  I  like  Che"rie  the  best.  She's 
the  kind  that  makes  you  want  to  hug  her." 

"  Indeed,  I  did  have  a  case  and  I  have  it  yet.  She  is 
one  of  the  most  attractive  women  I  ever  saw.  She  can 
give  cards  and  spades  to  all  those  swells  that  you  and 
dad  think  so  much  of." 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is  it  is  very  fortunate  that  you  do 
like  her." 

"  Why  ?  Could  n't  I  stay  if  I  did  n't  ? "   Ferdy  grinned. 


310  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Oh,  boy!"  said  Vivian.  "Don't  you  know  you're 
not  the  first  Breed  to  have  a  case  on  her?" 

"No.   What  do  you  mean?" 

"Did  n't  you  know  daddy  began  to  be  a  railroad  man 
right  here  in  Rubeville?" 

"Yes,  he  was  telling  me,  coming  out  to-day." 

"Is  that  all  he  told  you?  Did  n't  he  tell  you  of  losing 
his  heart  to  a  pretty  girl  who  had  given  her  word  to 
another  man?" 

"No,  he  did  not."  Ferdy  began  to  gaze  at  his  sister 
with  a  new  curiosity. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  really  ought  not  to 
have  to  tell  you  any  more,"  she  said,  "but  I'll  add  a 
little.  The  pretty  girl  became  the  mother  of  a  wonderful 
boy  who  is  going  to  make  his  mark  in  the  world.  Our 
dad  has  given  him  a  start  up  the  ladder  and  that  is  all 
such  a  man  needs." 

"Are  you  talking  about  Joe  Laird?"  asked  Ferdy, 
frowning. 

"Of  course!  Who  else?"  asked  Vivian  with  a  grand 
air. 

Her  brother  looked  bewildered.  ""Look  here,  we 
ought  to  go  back,  they'll  be  waiting  supper  for  us,  but 
I'd  like  to  get  this  thing  straight." 

"You'll  get  it  straight  after  you've  thought  about  it 
awhile,"  said  Vivian,  gathering  up  her  paraphernalia 
and  rising.  "It's  a  long  road  that  has  no  turning. 
Daddy  has  walked  a  long,  lonely  road.  We  ought  not 
to  grudge  his  celebrating  the  turning  with  a  few  thou 
sand  paltry  dollars." 

Ferdy  rose  and  stared  into  the  valley  while  he  cere 
brated.  Many  trifling  incidents  of  the  past  weeks  re 
curred  to  him,  but  most  of  all  a  new  alertness  and 


BY  THE  BROOKSIDE  311 

vivacity  which  he  had  noted  in  his  father.  He  had  laid 
it  entirely  to  his  own  recovery;  but  was  not  even  that 
recovery  all  mixed  up  with  Mrs.  Laird,  the  most  charm 
ing  of  women? 

Brother  and  sister  walked  in  silence  down  the  hill. 
They  had-nearly  reached  the  house  when  Ferdy  spoke: 
"If  anybody  on  earth  deserves  her,  dad  does,"  he  said. 

"Amen,"  returned  Vivian. 

Ferdy  was  given  a  room  in  the  house  as  remote  as 
possible  from  the  nursery  and  on  his  shady  porch  every 
morning  he  had  a  session  with  his  tutor,  a  young  man 
whom  he  found  very  companionable,  and  who  believed 
in  that  philosophy  of  life  which  had  given  the  boy  so 
much  help. 

Adam  Breed  stayed  on  for  several  days  in  the  har 
monious,  wholesome  atmosphere  which  was  doing  so 
much  for  his  children. 

May  Ca'line  was  a  busy  little  house-mother  and 
made  a  point  of  having  very  little  idle  time.  They 
drove  every  day,  exploring  the  surrounding  country, 
and  whenever  they  passed  through  the  village  an  epi 
demic  of  excitement  and  interest  seized  the  inhabitants. 

Adam  Breed  occasionally  went  into  the  store  with 
May  Ca'line,  and  Simon  Berry  once  recounted  to  him 
all  the  tantalizing  experience  he  had  suffered  with 
Willis  Frothingham  on  account  of  the  brook,  which  the 
latter  had  offered  as  his  reason  for  the  extraordinary 
purchase. 

Hetty  Woodward  also  listened  to  the  tale,  occa 
sionally  throwing  in  her  own  comments  and  greedily 
watching  the  great  man,  whom  she  mentally  dubbed 
"kingly."  May  Ca'line  laughed  in  sympathy  with 
Simon,  who  became  scarlet  with  pleasure  at  the  success 


312  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

of  his  narrative,  as  it  seemed  to  hold  Adam  Breed's 
interest  and  excited  an  occasional  laugh  and  nod. 

That  night  after  supper  when  the  young  people  had 
vanished  to  the  heights  to  watch  the  afterglow,  Adam 
Breed  led  his  hostess  out  beneath  the  drooping  elms. 

"There  aren't  any  trees  at  Rose  Ledge  any  finer 
than  these,"  he  said.  "I'm  glad  you  own  them,  May 
Ca'line." 

She  laughed.  "That  name  amuses  you,  does  n't  it? 
I  should  n't  know  myself  in  Leacock  by  any  other." 

"It's  an  excellent  name.  Why  have  n't  you  ever  ex 
hibited  this  wonderful  brook  to  me  —  Frothingham's 
piece  de  resistance?" 

"It  did  n't  need  exhibiting."  She  grew  uncomfort 
able  under  the  look  in  her  companion's  eyes.  "It  was 
always  there.  I  ought  to  go  into  the  house  and  speak 
to  Ellen  about  breakfast." 

"Not  till  I've  seen  the  brook.  I  never  noticed  it  par 
ticularly.  Poor  Frothingham,  he  needed  something  to 
talk  about,  did  n't  he?  I  put  him  in  a  tight  place." 

They  moved  down  the  slope  toward  the  gurgling, 
whispering  little  stream.  Frothingham  had  evidently 
considered  that  it  would  prove  an  attraction,  for  he  had 
placed  a  rustic  seat  at  an  advantageous  point. 

As  yet  the  spot  had  been  little  else  than  the  children's 
playground  and  dried  wisps  of  flowers  and  grass  cum 
bered  the  bench  now.  Adam  Breed  whisked  them  off 
with  his  handkerchief  and  they  sat  down,  May  Ca'line 
unwillingly. 

"I  really  ought  to  see  Ellen,"  she  said,  "before  she 
goes  to  bed." 

"Ellen  never  goes  to  bed.  It's  her  pet  antipathy. 
Ask  the  housekeeper  at  Rose  Ledge." 


BY  THE  BROOKSIDE  313 

In  the  meadow  across  the  brook  the  fireflies  were 
beginning  to  sparkle  in  the  starlight. 

"You  don't  need  any  excuse  to  get  away  from  me," 
said  Adam  Breed  quietly. 

"Why  —  what  put  that  into  your  head?" 

"You.  You're  as  given  to  vanishing  as  those  fire 
flies  yonder.  Don't  you  know  that  we  must  have  it 
out?" 

May  Ca'line  found  that  she  could  n't  speak,  so  did  n't 
at  once  try. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?" 

"Nothing  —  almost  nothing." 

Adam  Breed  rested  his  elbow  on  the  bench  near  her 
shoulder  and  transferred  his  attention  from  the  fire 
flies  to  the  starlit  profile  of  her  curly  head. 

"What  does  the  'almost'  mean?  You  can  trust  me, 
May?" 

"  It  means  —  that  I  think  people  are  so  much  hap 
pier  —  when  they  sail  along  on  the  top  of  the  wave  and 
—  and  don't  look  underneath."  Here  the  speaker  gave 
a  most  determined  swallow.  "When  two  old  friends 
like  us  are  alone  —  talk  is  liable  to  become  too  —  too 
personal.  I  think  we  should  —  should  avoid  it." 

Her  companion  smiled,  and  a  little  silence  followed; 
then  he  spoke  again.  "  Should  you  consider  it  too  per 
sonal  for  me  to  say  that  I  only  lent  you  to  the  other  man 
in  that  youth  of  ours?" 

"Don't  —  don't  say  such  things!"  exclaimed  May 
Ca'line,  her  heart  fluttering. 

"I  rounded  out  half  a  century  last  week,"  went  on 
the  other.  "You  are  the  perennial  sort.  I  think  age 
intends  to  pass  you  by;  but  in  the  last  two  months  I 
have  realized  how  faithful  I  have  been.  Don't  you 


314  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

think  you  should  give  me  your  sweet  self,  and  your 
charm,  and  your  courage,  for  the  journey  downhill?" 

May  Ca'line  clasped  her  hands  together  and  Adam 
Breed  closed  one  of  his  over  them  both  and  held  them 
fast. 

"We  have  grown  a  thousand  miles  apart,"  she  said, 
suddenly  calm  under  his  strong  pressure.  "  I  am  entirely 
out  of  your  sphere  of  life." 

"What  if  it  is  my  highest  ambition  to  come  into 
yours?" 

"I  should  mortify  you  in  your  fine  homes.  I  am  igno 
rant  of  all  elegancies.  I  can  see  that  Ellen  pities  me 
because  I  never  heard  of  the  dishes  she  wants  to  make." 

Adam  Breed's  low  laugh  had  a  tender  tone.  "We 
may  possibly  survive  Ellen's  disapproval,"  he  said. 

"You  have  put  me  under  so  many  obligations,"  said 
May  Ca'line.  "Joe—" 

"Don't  speak  of  anything  like  that."  The  quiet  in 
terruption  was  severe  and  the  clasp  on  her  hands  fell 
away.  They  felt  cold  and  desolate. 

" Don't  be  offended,  Adam,"  she  said  piteously.  "  I  'm 
distracted  with  all  this,  for  I  want  your  happiness  and 
I  think  you're  making  a  mistake." 

"But  for  your  influence  my  boy  would  even  yet  be 
ill  and  hopeless.  Can  you  speak  of  your  obligation  to 
me?" 

May  Ca'line's  breath  came  fast.  "I  dread  to  grow 
dependent  on  you  again,  Adam."  Her  voice  broke, 
but  she  commanded  it.  "If  you  knew  what  I  suffered 
all  those  months." 

He  picked  up  her  little  limp  hand  and  kissed  it,  hold 
ing  it  long  against  his  face.  "Now  it  is  settled,  May," 
he  said  quietly.  "Let  us  be  married  next  week." 


BY  THE  BROOKSIDE  315 

"No,  no!  Do  you  think  I  would  do  such  a  thing  with 
Joe  away?" 

"He  did  it  to  you." 

Adam  Breed  could  see  in  the  starlight  the  smile  she 
lifted  to  him,  and  her  shy  eyes.  "We  don't  dare  be  so 
selfish  as  we  were  at  twenty,"  she  answered. 

"You  were  never  selfish  or  we  should  n't  have  waited 
twenty-seven  years." 

"But  now,  Adam,  —  if  it's  right  for  you, — we  can 
be  much  happier  than  we  could  ever  have  been  with  a 
broken  faith  always  standing  between  us." 

"It  is  very  uncomfortable,"  said  the  man,  holding  her 
close  and  caressing  her  hair,  "for  a  young  fellow  to  fall 
in  love  with  an  angel.  He  would  far  better  keep  to  his 
own  class." 

"I'm  afraid  of  the  future,  Adam;  afraid  I  shall 
trouble  you.  I'm  such  a  little  ignoramus." 

"You  will  be  exquisite  in  emeralds,"  he  answered. 

She  laughed.  "Let  me  sit  u-p,  please,  Adam.  I  want 
to  speak  to  you  very  sensibly.  We  will  have  nothing 
but  our  own  understanding  until  Joe  comes  back." 

"He  can't  get  through  before  spring." 

"I  don't  care  if  it's  a  year  from  next  spring.  The 
children  say  I  never  slap  and  I  never  give  up." 

"  I  '11  take  the  slapping  eagerly  if  you  '11  only  give  up." 

"No,  Adam,  and  your  dear  children  must  n't  suspect 
it.  It  will  be  easy  because  I  shall  stay  here  this  winter." 

"You  might  as  well  try  to  hide  a  fire.  Do  you  want 
to  make  me  take  that  absurd,  uncomfortable  ride  all 
winter?" 

"No,  don't  take  it.   Just  leave  me  Thomas." 

Adam  Breed  laughed.  "That's  a  cheerful  remark  to 
make  to  a  man." 


316  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"You  go  right  on  just  the  same,  entertaining  those 
fashionable  ladies  Vivian  tells  me  about." 

"She  has  been  doing  my  courting  for  me,  has  she? 
The  minx,  making  you  believe  her  daddy  is  such  a 
magnet." 

"You  don't  mean  that  Vivian  thinks  — " 

"She  does  occasionally,  and  it  is  always  to  some 
purpose." 

"Joe  says  you  are  very  ambitious  for  her,"  remarked 
May  Ca'line.  Her  thoughts  were  seething.  Perhaps  in 
taking  her  own  happiness  she  was  opening  a  gate  to 
Joe.  She  determined,  however,  to  be  very  circumspect. 
She  would  neither  betray  her  boy's  heart  to  Adam,  nor 
her  own  to  Joe.  Letters  were  too  unsatisfactory  and  too 
dangerous. 

Her  companion  sat  looking  thoughtfully  across  at  the 
will-o'-the-wisps. 

"I  must  give  Joe  more  workmen,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  CONQUEROR 

THE  following  winter  was  one  of  discontent  for 
most  of  those  figuring  in  this  story.  Adam  Breed's 
inconvenience  in  getting  to  Leacock  resulted  later  on  in 
a  practically  straight  road  from  that  village  to  the  city. 
At  least  travelers  no  longer  had  to  change  cars;  but  for 
the  present  he  usually  arrived  at  the  home  of  his  lady 
in  a  depot  hack  and  a  very  undesirable  frame  of  mind. 
She  utterly  refused  his  proffered  gift  of  horse  and  sleigh. 
The  schoolhouse  was  not  too  far  away  for  the  children 
to  walk,  and  for  herself,  she  got  about  as  she  had  always 
done. 

May  Ca'line  and  Nora  did  all  the  work  of  the  house 
and  Thomas  took  care  of  the  furnace  and  shoveled  the 
paths.  There  never  was  so  expensive  a  hired  man;  but 
May  Ca'line  knew  nothing  about  that.  Joe  sent  her  a 
handsome  check  every  month,  and  Thomas  agreed  with 
docility  to  accept  the  wages  she  offered  him,  receiving 
his  bonus  from  Mr.  Breed  with  regularity  and  thinking 
his  own  thoughts.  To  do  him  justice  he  was  entirely 
devoted  to  the  little  mistress  of  the  house,  but  he  knew 
his  master  too  well  to  believe  that  his  seal-lined  overcoat 
ornamented  the  Leacock  train  so  often  on  a  business 
errand. 

"I'll  be  drivin'  her  in  town  some  day,"  he  said  to 
himself —  "and  a  good  job,  too." 

At  the  Christmas  holidays  May  Ca'line  and  the  chil 
dren  went  in  town  to  enjoy  a  tree  at  the  Breeds'  and 


318  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

had  a  grand  time.  Ferdy  was  home  from  college,  where 
he  was  taking  a  special  course.  Vivian  embraced  the 
children  with  surprising  fondness  and  had  prepared  gifts 
that  rejoiced  their  souls. 

Her  father,  finding  her  averse  to  much  gayety  this 
winter,  had  not  spurred  her  on  as  before. 

"I  was  a  success,"  she  said  to  him;  "I  can  rest  on 
my  laurels  a  bit  without  being  entirely  forgotten."  And 
her  father's  interests  being  so  essentially  elsewhere  he 
was  easily  persuaded. 

To  May  Ca'line  it  seemed  as  if  the  girl  had  lost  much 
of  her  old  vivacity.  She  could  not  lay  it  to  the  prob 
ability  that  Vivian  knew  what  was  in  the  wind  regarding 
her  father's  intentions,  because  if  anything  she  was  more 
loving  to  May  Ca'line  than  of  old. 

The  latter  looked  about  with  curious  and  reminiscent 
eyes  on  the  fashionable  home.  The  sheeted  and  shaded 
days  were  vividly  in  memory  and  now  all  the  hidden 
glories  were  revealed.  Her  energies  were  chiefly  devoted 
to  keeping  the  twins'  feet  off  the  furniture,  and  what 
with  that  anxiety  and  her  dread  of  the  master's  making 
too  evident  the  state  of  affairs  between  them,  it  was  a 
relief  to  her  when  the  visit  was  over. 

Before  going  to  the  city  she  had  asked  Joe  in  one  of 
her  letters  if  he  corresponded  with  Vivian  Breed. 

No,  I  don't  write  to  her  [he  replied].  I  even  allowed  her  to 
write  the  last  letter.  I  can't  write  and  keep  out  of  it  every 
thing  I  should.  She  does  n't  know  that  my  heart  and  mind 
have  been  free  for  years.  She  would  n't  have  any  respect 
for  me  if  so  soon  after  the  tragedy  I  built  a  shrine  for  another 
girl.  More  than  that,  she  is  not  for  me.  I  feel  it;  and  as  a 
matter  of  self-preservation  I  prefer  to  keep  her  out  of  my 
thought.  My  feeling  for  her  is  so  overwhelming  that  it  must 
be  all  or  nothing.  I  can  do  my  work  better  if  I  put  an  extin- 


THE  CONQUEROR  319 

guisher  on  the  whole  thing.  Just  tell  me  about  the  children 
and  yourself,  mother.  Never  mind  the  fashionable  world. 
I  'm  glad  Thomas  helps  them  with  their  snow  man  and  feeding 
the  birds.  They  are  having  a  great  winter,  just  as  it  should 
be.  Apple  cheeks  out  of  doors  and  apple  barrels  in  the  house. 
Let  me  know  whenever  you  need  more  money.  I  can't  un 
derstand  that  swell  English  Thomas  being  willing  to  work  for 
those  wages  unless  perhaps  Nora  smiles  on  him. 

The  new  road  is  coming  on  finely.  I  think  you'll  see  me 
back  in  the  spring.  Mr.  Breed  has  put  on  a  tremendous  force 
of  men.  He  surely  is  a  hustler. 

May  Ca'line,  being  deeply  convinced  of  her  son's 
superlative  attractions,  wondered  if  Vivian's  rather 
drooping  sweetness  might  be  in  any  degree  attributable 
to  neglect.  She  had,  during  the  summer,  viewed  Willis 
Frothingham's  visits  to  Leacock  and  seen  the  tact  and 
frankness  with  which  he  had  been  treated. 

He  came  more  than  once,  and  on  the  last  occasion 
she  came  upon  Vivian  after  his  departure,  and  the  girl 
was  weeping  under  the  elm  tassels. 

"Do  you  want  to  tell  me,  dear?"  May  Ca'line  had 
asked  gently. 

"Oh,  it's  just  that  —  that  I'm  t-tired  of  saying  one 
h-hateful  little  word.  Why  can't  people  s-see  'no'  in 
stead  of  —  of  making  you  say  it?" 

May  Ca'line  soothed  her  lovingly. 

"Daddy  wants  him.    Th-that's  the  worst  of  it." 

After  this  Joe's  mother  cogitated  long.  She  decided 
not  to  tell  him.  Adam  Breed  was  so  apt  in  the  end  to 
get  what  he  wanted.  Joe  might  be  right. 

Now,  however,  at  Christmas,  May  Ca'line  found  such 
a  different  and  subdued  Vivian  that  she  questioned. 
"No  ring  there,"  she  said  playfully,  shaking  the  girl's 
third  ringer  as  she  unpacked  her  suitcase.  She  blushed 
furiously,  meanwhile,  conscious  of  a  glittering  encrusta- 


320  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

tion  of  diamonds  clasping  an  emerald,  that  lay  on  its 
chain  against  her  own  breast. 

"No,  indeed,  I  should  say  not,"  responded  Vivian. 
"I'd  rather  see  Mrs.  Chetwyn  for  half  an  hour  than  all 
the  men  in  town." 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  the  right  man  when  he  comes 
along,  my  child.  What  the  world  needs  at  this  stage  is 
moral  homes.  By  the  way,  you  know  I  'm  very  much 
smitten  with  my  boy.  I  have  a  new  picture  of  him  and 
I  carry  it  around  like  a  lover.  I  must  show  it  to  you." 
She  drew  out  a  photograph  of  Joe  and  handed  it  to  the 
girl,  who  accepted  it  in  silence  and  with  no  change  of 
countenance. 

"It's  very  good,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  hope  he  is  well 
and  happy." 

"He's  well,  I  believe,  but  I  don't  think  Joe  is  very 
happy." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?  Does  n't  he  like  the 
people  out  there?  I  imagined  he  was  rather  gay." 

There  was  an  unmistakable  access  of  interest  in  the 
speaker's  face  and  manner.  May  Ca'line,  looking  for 
evidence  in  support  of  her  theory,  thought  she  saw  it. 

"Oh,  no,  my  dear,  not  gay  at  all.  He  works  hard 
and  his  whole  heart  seems  to  be  in  the  business.  He  is 
with  his  sister  whenever  he  can  manage  it.  You  know 
Joe  passed  through  a  very  great  shock." 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  do  know  that." 

"And  it  was  not  the  shock  alone.  There  was  a  long- 
drawn-out  strain  before  that."  May  Ca'line  shook  her 
head.  "He  behaved  well  —  my  boy;  but  he  suffered 
much.  I  hope  Time  will  bring  the  happiness  to  him 
that  he  has  never  known." 

Vivian  bit  her  lip,  looked  back  at  the  picture  and  said 


THE  CONQUEROR  321 

nothing,  but  her  face  could  not  entirely  conceal  the 
passionate  undercurrent  of  her  thoughts. 

When  May  Ca'line  left  for  home  she  forgot  Joe's 
photograph. 

"  Never  mind  sending  it,"  she  wrote  back,  in  her 
bread-and-butter  letter;  "I  have  another  one  and  per 
haps  your  father  would  like  to  have  that.  Joe  is  work 
ing  like  a  beaver  to  get  home  to  us.  He  has  had  only 
a  delicious  taste  of  your  friendship,  and  I'm  sure  that 
when  he  went  away  he  braced  himself  for  news  of  the 
engagement  of  the  most  attractive  of  all  the  debutantes. 
Should  you  escape  until  he  comes  back,  you  may  be 
prepared  to  find  unfashionable  Joe  sometimes  among 
your  friends,  and  hungrier  than  any  Oliver  Twist." 

Vivian  frowned  over  this  letter.  "Is  she  comforting 
me?"  she  thought.  "Did  I  show  it?  Cherie  is  such  a 
trump !  I  'm  sure  I  earned  some  of  her  affection  by  acute 
blindness  and  deafness  on  occasions  during  the  holi 
days.  I  wonder  if  they  are  afraid  of  me  that  they  hide 
their  heads  in  the  sand  the  way  they  do?" 

Mr.  Breed  never  received  Joe's  photograph,  and  the 
winter  months  went  by.  Spring  came  again,  and  very 
charmingly  at  the  Leacock  homestead.  May  Ca'line 
and  Thomas  did  artful  things  with  rambler  roses  and 
sweet  peas. 

"I'll  have  to  be  leavin'  you  soon,  ma'am,"  said 
Thomas  one  morning,  "because  Mr.  Breed '11  be  wantin' 
me  back,  but  I'll  get  the  things  all  started." 

"I  don't  think  it  is  at  all  nice  of  Mr.  Breed  to  take 
you  away  from  me." 

"Well,  ma'am,  he  does  n't  like  the  chauffeur  he  has 
in  my  place." 

"But  that's   no   matter,"   said   bold   May  Ca'line, 


HEARTS9  HAVEN 

suspicious  that  Thomas  wished  to  go,  and  assured  in 
a  warm  place  in  her  own  heart  that  he  would  not 
have  a  chance  unless  she  gave  it  to  him. 

At  last  the  letter  arrived  saying  that  Joe  was  coming 
home,  and  her  rejoicing  was  mingled  with  nervousness 
on  account  of  the  news  he  must  hear.  What  would  her 
boy  say?  If  he  objected  it  would  be  all  over.  She  owed 
more  to  him  than  she  did  to  Adam  Breed,  and  though 
she  felt  scarcely  able  to  bear  the  thought  of  giving 
up  her  lover  a  second  time,  she  knew  she  should  not 
hesitate. 

Lent  was  over  and  a  spring  ball  was  about  to  be  given 
by  one  of  the  Breeds'  friends.  The  hostess  was  a  lady 
whom  father  and  daughter  especially  liked,  so  they 
accepted  the  invitation. 

When  the  day  came  Adam  Breed  told  Vivian  that 
he  might  be  obliged  to  arrive  late  and  that  their  friend, 
Mrs.  Mitchell,  was  going  to  call  for  her,  and  he  would 
come  as  soon  as  he  could. 

Vivian  shook  her  head  at  him.  "Mean!"  she  said. 
"You  know  we  neither  of  us  care  anything  about  it, 
but  you  have  the  advantage  and  make  me  go." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  child?"  inquired  her 
father,  regarding  her,  puzzled.  "You  ought  not  to  be 
blase  like  this.  It's  going  to  be  a  charming  affair." 

"What  do  you  care  so  long  as  Cherie  is  n't  going  to 
be  there?"  returned  Vivian  with  her  chin  up.  "I  sup 
pose  you  both  know  what  you  're  doing  with  your  grand 
secrecy  and  your  ploughing  out  to  Leacock  through  the 
snowdrifts  all  winter." 

"Yes,  we  do  know  exactly,"  said  her  father,  meeting 
her  defiant  regard.  "We're  waiting  for  Joe  Laird,  con 
found  him!  Cherie  insists  on  that." 


THE  CONQUEROR  323 

He  saw  his  daughter  crimson  from  chin  to  forehead, 
but  her  eyes  did  not  fall. 

"Waiting  for  him?"  she  returned. 

"By  thunder!"  thought  Adam  Breed,  "she's  still 


at  it." 


"Have  you  been  hearing  from  Joe?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

"And  she  has  moped  like  a  moulting  bird,"  reflected 
the  father.  "I  thought  perhaps  it  was  me." 

"Well,  I'm  expecting  a  wire  from  him  to-night,"  he 
said.  "He's  nearly  ready  to  come  back.  I  told  him  to 
wire  here  and  I  shall  have  to  wait  till  the  message  comes. 
I  won't  be  very  late.  Be  a  good  girl  and  don't  bother. 
I  thought  I  was  acting  for  the  best  in  asking  Mrs. 
Mitchell  to  take  you." 

So  Vivian  was  carried  off  to  the  festivity,  airy  and 
lovely  without,  subdued  and  indifferent  within.  Her 
father,  when  she  was  gone,  paced  up  and  down  the 
drawing-room,  and  if  May  Ca'line  had  seen  him  as  he 
looked  in  his  evening  clothes,  erect,  finished,  strong, 
with  that  intent  look  on  his  fine  face,  she  would  have 
had  new  misgivings  as  to  her  ability  to  live  up  to  him. 

He  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  opening  it  read 
the  following  portion :  — 

I  have  a  letter  from  Joe  telling  me  he  is  coming  home. 
You  will  see  him  before  I  do.  Please  leave  it  to  me  to  tell  him 
our  plan.  He  knows  nothing  of  it.  Remember,  I  have  al 
ways  told  you  I  must  be  guided  by  his  feelings,  as  you  should 
be  by  that  of  your  children.  We  are  not  free  to  follow  our 
wishes  regardless  of  them.  My  first  duty  is  to  Joe,  and  if  he 
objects,  I  shall,  at  any  cost  to  myself,  yield  to  him;  but  if, 
my  dearest,  he  joins  in  our  happiness,  I  shall  be  in  the  seventh 
heaven  and  shall  put  on  my  beautiful  ring  and  let  the  whole 
world  know  what  a  fortunate  woman  I  am. 


324  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

Adam  Breed  read  this  paragraph  more  than  once  as 
he  had  read  it  more  than  once  before.  May  Ca'line 
had  been  chary  of  affectionate  demonstration,  either 
in  words  or  action,  and  he  thrilled  at  her  declaration. 

He  put  the  letter  back  in  his  pocket  and  pursued  his 
march.  Who  was  Joe  Laird  that  he  should  stand  in  the 
way?  Who  was  he  that  he  should  take  Vivian's  heart 
out  of  her  legitimate  frivolities?  He  had  forbidden  his 
daughter  with  more  or  less  sincerity  to  consider  so 
obscure  a  man  in  the  light  of  a  suitor.  He  had  really 
believed  that  the  passing  fancy  each  had  for  the  other 
would  be  forgotten  in  so  long  a  separation.  Now  Joe's 
obscurity  could  scarcely  count  if  he  himself  caused  it 
to  cease  automatically  by  marrying  his  mother.  The 
humor  of  the  situation  was  not  lost  upon  him  as  he 
marched  and  pulled  his  mustache,  frowning.  He 
turned  impatiently  at  the  end  of  the  room  and  came  all 
at  once  face  to  face  with  the  subject  of  his  thought. 

"You  here!"  he  exclaimed,  and  both  men  advanced 
and  shook  hands;  Joe  all  unconscious  that  he  stood  for 
an  impediment  in  the  eyes  of  his  benefactor.  The  latter 
heard  little  of  the  explanation  as  to  why  he  himself  had 
appeared  instead  of  a  telegram. 

Adam  Breed  examined  the  bronzed  face  and  strong 
figure. 

"You've  done  well  for  yourself  out  there." 

"Yes.  The  outdoor  life  was  great.  I've  never  been 
so  husky.  You  seem  to  be  expecting  guests." 

"No,  going  to  a  ball.   Stayed  to  get  your  wire." 

"Miss — "  Joe  cast  an  involuntary  glance  around. 
"Your  daughter  gone?" 

"Yes.  Very  much  against  her  will.  Vivian  seems 
desirous  to  forswear  society." 


THE  CONQUEROR  325 

Joe's  lip  twitched  and  he  looked  all  at  once  very  seri 
ous.  "Ah,  a  reason  for  all  this  exclusiveness,  of  course. 
She  is  engaged?" 

Adam  Breed,  his  own  plans  hanging  in  the  balance, 
noted  even  the  twitch  and  the  intense  expression  of  the 
young  fellow's  eyes. 

"  I  should  say  not,"  he  returned  dryly. 

"Mr.  Frothingham?" 

"Gone  up  the  spout  with  the  rest  of  them,"  was  the 
reply,  given  with  a  hopeless  gesture.  "Have  you  ever 
noticed  how  many  of  the  prettiest  girls  never  marry? 
Vivian  seems  drawing  that  proud  little  head  of  hers 
farther  and  farther  into  her  shell  every  month." 

This  news  did  not  appear  to  depress  the  man  from 
the  West.  Indeed,  his  watcher  noted  a  distinct  cheer 
fulness  relax  his  grave  lips  and  eyes. 

"I  wish  you  could  go  with  me  to  this  function,"  added 
Adam  Breed.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  and  yet  I  must  go. 
Do  you  suppose  you  could  wear  my  clothes?" 

"My  own  are  right  out  here  in  the  taxi;  I  had  to 
attend  a  banquet  in  Chicago  on  the  way." 

"Enough  said,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Breed  with  satisfac 
tion,  slapping  him  on  the  back. 

When  later  they  were  ready  to  start  he  looked  at  the 
younger  man  with  approval.  There  was  no  mistake 
about  it.  Success  was  written  all  over  him.  No  one 
would  ever  again  connect  the  idea  of  obscurity  with 
Joseph  Laird. 

Vivian  in  filmy  robes  was  deep  in  the  mazes  of  the 
dance  when  they  entered  the  ballroom.  It  was  the  sort 
of  ballroom  to  delight  a  debutante's  heart.  Space,  flow 
ers,  lights,  music  with  an  inspiring  emphasis  and  swing, 
and  the  conservatory,  so  indispensable  as  an  adjunct. 


326  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Vivian,  submitting  with  gentle  grace  to  the  courtesies 
of  the  evening,  mechanically  replied  to  her  partners' 
remarks,  while  her  thoughts  were  still  with  her  father 
at  home. 

"What  will  the  wire  say?  When  is  he  coming  back? 
His  mother  suspected  and  was  sorry  for  me,  or  she 
would  n't  have  said  that  about  the  quiet  life  he  was 
leading.  I  don't  believe  it.  I'm  sure  he  has  met  some 
girl  out  there  who  has  charmed  him.  He  would  have 
written  me  otherwise." 

At  the  moment  of  her  father's  entrance  she  happened 
to  be  dancing  with  Willis  Frothingham.  The  young 
architect  knew  that  Holdfast  is  a  good  dog,  and  during 
the  winter  he  had  not  been  discouraged  from  pleasant, 
friendly  attentions  which  would  keep  him  in  Vivian's 
mind  without  making  demands  upon  her. 

He  recognized  her  father's  entrance  now  before  she 
did,  and  saw  with  a  stir  of  his  pulses  who  was  his  com 
panion.  Joe  certainly  had  the  appearance  to-night  of  a 
rival  who  was  to  be  feared,  and  Frothingham  had  never 
been  free  from  an  undercurrent  of  suspicion  that  Joe 
stood  in  his  way,  although  he  had  been  so  long  absent. 

An  instant  afterward  Vivian  saw  them,  too.  If  Froth- 
ingham's  pulses  had  responded,  hers  leaped.  At  once 
she  changed  from  quiet  courtesy  into  a  merry  com 
panion. 

"This  is  my  favorite  of  all  the  fox-trots,"  she  said, 
"and  I'm  so  glad  to  have  it  with  you,  Willis.  No  one's 
leads  suit  me  better." 

He  responded  with  fatuous  pleasure.  "I  see  that 
stunning  father  of  yours  has  just  come  in,"  he  said, 
"and  he  has  his  old  secretary  with  him.  Did  you  know 
Laird  had  come  back?" 


THE  CONQUEROR  327 

Vivian  turned  her  head  carelessly.  "Why,  so  it  is 
he,"  she  answered.  "No,  he  was  n't  expected  so  soon." 

Then,  with  what  the  poor  young  man  thought  was  a 
searching  move,  he  pursued,  "Would  you  like  to  stop 
and  speak  to  him?" 

"Oh,  no,  it  would  be  a  pity  to  lose  any  of  this."  And 
the  reply  lifted  a  weight  from  Willis's  heart  which  knew 
not  all  the  subtlety  of  the  feminine  soul. 

At  the  end  of  the  dance  Vivian  was  smiling  more  gayly 
than  she  had  done  for  months.  "Let  us  go  into  the  con 
servatory,"  she  said. 

Willis  responded  eagerly,  but  they  were  followed, 
and  by  the  time  they  had  settled  themselves  under  a 
sheltering  palm  and  near  the  trickle  of  the  cool  fountain, 
the  two  other  men  stood  before  them. 

Joe  had  never  before  seen  Vivian  in  evening  dress, 
and  he  absently  greeted  Frothingham  as  the  latter  arose, 
scarcely  moving  his  eyes  from  the  vision.  Mr.  Breed 
engaged  the  architect  in  conversation. 

"You  don't  know  how  it  dazzles  to  see  so  much  white 
ness  when  one  is  fresh  from  camp-life,"  said  Joe. 
"Building  railroads  is  rough  business.  I  haven't  for 
gotten  how  to  dance,  though.  That's  one  thing  they 
keep  you  up  on  in  the  West.  Will  you  dance  with  me?" 

One  of  the  many  iron  determinations  which  had 
flitted  through  Vivian's  head  in  the  past  five  minutes 
was  that  she  would  not  dance  with  him.  The  fact  that 
he  looked  so  extremely  well  now,  and  that  out  West  he 
had  dared  to  dance  with  other  girls  when  he  might  have 
been  writing  to  her,  fortified  her. 

"Of  course  I  should  like  to,"  she  replied  with  a  shrug, 
"but  I  suppose  I  can't.  I've  promised  a  horde  of  them." 

"That  should  n't  make  any  difference  when  I  have 


328  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

come  so  far."  And  Frothingham  colored  under  the 
effrontery  of  the  newcomer,  for  he  here  dropped  into 
the  seat  he  himself  had  been  forced  to  leave. 

"Wild  Western  manners,"  said  Adam  Breed,  smiling, 
and  he  passed  his  hand  through  the  architect's  very 
stiff  arm  and  led  him  away,  willy-nilly.  Willis  looked 
wildly  over  his  shoulder  to  make  his  adieux  to  Vivian, 
but  she  failed  to  look  up.  Joe  did  not  recognize  their 
departure  because  he  had  forgotten  they  were  there. 

"Isn't  there  some  place  we  can  go  until  the  music 
starts?"  he  asked.  "Then  your  partner  can't  find  you 
and  we  will  just  dance  in." 

Vivian  tilted  her  chin  and  raised  her  eyebrows.  "Why 
should  I  do  that?  Perhaps  I  wish  to  dance  with  him." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  don't.  You  want  to  dance  with  me.  I  'm 
a  crackajack.  I  give  you  my  word.  Where  can  we  go, 
quick?" 

Vivian  started  up  mechanically  and  led  the  way  to  a 
glass  door  which  he  opened,  and  they  passed  out  upon 
a  deserted  stone  terrace. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  do  this,"  she  said  impulsively. 

"  I  do,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  It  is  because  I  deserve 
a  reward  for  my  patience." 

"Patience!"  she  repeated,  and  a  crimson  tide  rushed 
over  her  face  and  neck,  lost  on  him  there  in  the  dim 
light  that  flowed  through  the  glass. 

"Yes.  Of  course,  I  could  n't  whine  to  you  when  I 
went  away  —  yes,  tore  myself  away,"  he  added  passion 
ately.  "  I  could  n't  speak,  and  I  was  to  be  away  nearly 
a  year.  I  knew  positively  one  of  the  lucky  fellows  your 
father  smiled  upon  would  get  you  in  that  time.  I  nearly 
went  out  of  my  head  to-night  when  I  arrived  and  he 
told  me  you  had  n't  chosen  any  one.  Vivian,  I  'm  here 


THE  CONQUEROR  329 

and  I  'm  going  to  fight  for  my  happiness  —  our  happi 
ness,  for  I  believe  I  can  make  you  happy.  Your  father 
has  trusted  me  with  great  responsibility  and  I  have 
made  good.  Why  should  he  oppose  me?" 

Vivian  was  trembling  under  the  torrent  of  his  words. 

"  You  never  wrote ! " 

"Ah,  did  n't  I?  I  wrote  you  hundreds  of  letters  that 
tumbled  into  the  waste-basket,  or  spread  over  the  desert 
trails  until  Hop-o'-my-Thumb  could  have  found  his 
way  anywhere.  If  you  knew  the  fierceness  of  my  hunger 
you  'd  understand  that  I  could  n't  bear  to  hear  about 
you  with  the  people  here.  I  absolutely  had  to  have  you 
entirely,  or  not  at  all."  As  he  spoke  he  stood  before 
her  with  clenched  fists  hanging  at  his  side. 

"If  you  knew,"  she  said  with  a  catch  in  her  breath 
that  stopped  her  speech  —  "if  you  knew  what  you  have 
made  me  —  suffer." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  regardless  of  her  dainti 
ness,  and  she  clung  to  him,  sighing  under  his  kisses. 

The  music  of  the  waltz  began  and  flowed  out  the  wide- 
flung  windows.  The  two  did  not  move.  Joe  tried  to 
speak  and  could  not. 

She  was  first  to  find  voice.  "Do  you  suppose  I  shall 
be  fit  to  be  seen?"  she  asked.  "Let  us  dance  once,  and 
then  —  go  home." 

They  passed  back  into  the  conservatory.  Vivian 
could  smile  as  she  shook  out  and  revived  her  stormed 
draperies.  Joe  was  grave  and  pale  under  his  bronze. 

A  young  man,  wild-eyed  and  eager,  who  had  been 
darting  to  and  fro  among  the  greenery,  suddenly 
appeared  before  them.  "Miss  Breed,  I've  hunted  for 
you  everywhere.  This  waltz,  'The  Only  Girl,'  is  my 
favorite.  Let's  not  lose  any  more." 


330  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

"Mr.  Lorimer,"  Vivian  smiled  her  sweetest  upon 
him,  "I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  be  generous.  My  fiance 
has  just  arrived  from  the  West."  She  dropped  her  head 
to  one  side  archly.  "  You  are  the  first  person  I  'm  telling, 
Mr.  Lorimer,  but  it  won't  be  any  secret  now.  Mr.  Laird, 
Mr.  Lorimer."  The  two  men  shook  hands,  both  semi- 
delirious.  "If  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  give  this  dance 
to  him?  We  are  obliged  to  leave  directly  afterward. 
I  knew  you  would.  Thank  you  so  much!" 

The  lovers  entered  the  ballroom  and  moved  away  in 
the  waltz,  leaving  Mr.  Lorimer  leaning  against  the  con 
servatory  door  for  support.  Miss  Breed  had  been  par 
ticularly  gracious  to  him  at  dances,  he  being  young  and 
harmless,  and  he  had  a  bet  up  that  to-night  she  would 
give  him  more  waltzes  than  any  one  else.  She  was  gone ! 
They  had  all  lost  her!  He  felt  sick.  Who  was  Laird? 
Never  heard  of  him.  Who  would  have  dreamed  that 
there  existed  a  dark  horse? 

Adam  Breed  stood  against  the  wall  and  watched  the 
floating  grace  of  his  young  couple  and  wondered  what 
had  taken  place  in  the  conservatory.  If  they  had  had 
an  amiable  interview  they  would  be  likely  to  disappear 
within  its  pleasant  precincts  again  at  the  close  of  the 
dance.  He  suppressed  a  yawn.  He  thought  Vivian 
looked  happy  in  the  brief  glimpses  he  obtained  of  her 
face  as  they  circled  near.  Her  partner  was  dropping 
into  her  ear  monosyllables  which  conveyed  that  not 
only  was  she  the  most  perfect  girl  on  earth,  but  the 
most  perfect  dancer,  and  that  for  himself,  his  happiness 
was  incredible,  etc.,  etc. 

Not  until  the  music  died  away  did  they  pause.  Then 
with  a  long  look  into  one  another's  eyes  they  moved 
toward  Mr.  Breed. 


THE  CONQUEROR  331 

"Mrs.  Mitchell  is  trying  to  attract  his  attention," 
exclaimed  Vivian  suddenly.  "We  must  get  him  first." 
They  glided  between  the  fan-waving  lady  and  her  object, 
and  Adam  Breed  met  their  radiant  regard  curiously. 

His  daughter  urged  him  into  a  convenient  alcove. 
"We  want  to  go  home,"  she  said  rather  breathlessly. 

"Why  is  that?  You  both  look  as  if  you  were  having 
the  time  of  your  lives." 

"Because  if  we  stay  I  will  have  to  dance  with  other 
men,  and  I  don't  want  to." 

The  father  looked  from  one  to  another,  and  Joe's  face 
was  speaking. 

"You  seem  to  have  made  very  good  use  of  your  lim 
ited  time,"  remarked  Adam  Breed. 

"  I  meant  to  ask  your  permission,  indeed,  I  did,  Mr. 
Breed,"  said  Joe  earnestly.  "But,"  —  turning  toward 
Vivian,  —  "I  lost  my  head  completely.  Look  at  her. 
She's  my  excuse." 

"Well,  I  perfectly  agree  with  you  that  you  would 
better  go  home.  I  will  have  to  stay  awhile  and  cover 
your  tracks  as  well  as  I  can.  I  shall  see  you  later,  Joe. 
Sit  up  for  me  if  you  are  n't  too  much  bored." 

His  daughter  gave  him  a  parting  look  in  which  spar 
kled  all  her  old  radiance. 

"He  can't  cover  our  tracks,"  she  said  gleefully  as 
they  hurried  away.  "Young  Lorimer  has  published  it 
by  this  time." 

Mr.  Breed  sauntered  toward  the  beckoning  fan.  Mrs. 
Mitchell  was  still  following  the  departing  pair  with  her 
lorgnette.  Would  May  Ca'line  ever  be  able  to  handle 
a  lorgnette  like  that? 

"We're  all  perishing  of  curiosity,  Mr.  Breed,"  she 
said  in  her  charmingly  modulated  voice.  "Who  is  the 


332  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

new  man?  Why  have  n't  you  brought  him  to  us  before? 
So  attract! ve!" 

"He  has  just  arrived  from  the  West.  I  am  the  bearer 
of  Vivian's  excuses  for  leaving  with  him." 

"We  are  hearing  the  most  startling  rumors,  Mr. 
Breed,"  returned  the  lady.  "Is  it  possible  that  your 
charming  daughter  — "  She  paused  and  finished  by  an 
interrogation  of  raised  eyebrows  and  gracious  smile. 

"I  couldn't  expect  to  keep  her,  could  I?"  was  the 
urbane  response,  and  the  lady  beamed.  She  had  been 
a  widow  for  two  years,  and  with  other  attractive  dames 
would  consider  that  that  elusive  fish,  Adam  Breed, 
might  be  more  amenable  if  the  light  of  his  daughter's 
companionship  was  withdrawn  from  his  home. 

In  the  welcome  seclusion  of  the  motor  Vivian  brought 
up  the  subject  of  her  lover's  mother. 

"Did  you  know,"  she  asked,  "that  in  their  youth 
your  mother  and  my  father  just  missed  the  happiness 
that  we  are  having  now?" 

"My  mother  has  told  me  so  little,  but  your  father's 
generosity  has  led  me  into  some  keen  suspicion." 

"  I  'm  not  betraying  any  confidence,  for  they  have  n't 
told  me  anything,  but  I  think  you  ought  to  be  prepared, 
Joe,  because  it  has  looked  to  me  this  winter  as  if  they 
had  begun  just  where  they  left  off —  that  is,  if  she  did 
love  him  in  those  old  days.  She  was  engaged,  ,jt  seems, 
when  they  met." 

"Yes,"  returned  Joe,  "but  I  think  you  have  mistaken 
a  warm  friendship  for  something  else.  My  mother  as 
sumes  bravery,  but  inwardly  I  think  she  stands  in  awe 
of  your  father  as  I  have  always  done.  He  is  such  a  won 
derful  man,  he  would  look  after  her,  anyway,  in  my 
absence,  you  know." 


THE  CONQUEROR  333 

Vivian  shook  her  head,  unconvinced.  "Daddy  does 
about  as  he  wants  to  as  much  as  any  other  man.  You 
wanted  not  to  write  to  me,  never  thinking  of  what  might 
be  my  side  of  it." 

And  here  we  will  withdraw  from  that  motor  because 
the  conversation  immediately  became  da  capo,  ad  in- 
finitum. 

When  Mr.  Breed  returned  an  hour  later,  Vivian  ran 
to  him  and  began  an  indefinite  embrace.  Joe  man 
aged  to  secure  the  imprisoned  one's  right  hand  for  a 
period. 

"How  can  I  ever  thank  you?"  he  said  in  a  thrilled 
voice. 

"Perhaps  you  can  do  something  for  me  sometime," 
was  the  reply. 

"If  ever  I  can — "  came  from  between  Joe's  closed 
teeth,  and  Mr.  Breed  regained  possession  of  his  crushed 
fingers. 

"You  can  begin  right  now.   Come  into  the  den  for  a 


minute." 


When  Joe  returned  from  that  brief  interview  he  had 
a  far-away  look  which  Vivian  saw  took  no  note  of  her. 
She  clasped  her  hands  behind  her  head  and  waited. 

"Was  I  right?"  she  asked. 

"But  my  little  mother.  I  knew  she  was  brave,  but 
this  —  all  this."  He  waved  his  hand  in  a  gesture  which 
included  the  stately  room.  "I  would  have  said  that 
nothing  could  induce  her." 

"Have  you  ever  known  daddy  to  try  to  induce  any 
one  and  fail?  I  think  it  is  beautiful.  I  love  the  little 
Cherie,  with  her  fineness  and  poise,  and  it  makes  me  feel 
so  different  about  leaving  daddy." 

Upon  which,  of  course  —  da  capo,  ad  libitum* 


334  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

Adam  Breed  called  up  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  a 
night  letter  to  Leacock.  It  ran  thus :  — 

Young  Lochinvar  has  come  out  of  the  West  and  settled 
his  affairs  in  record  time.  He  is  not  exactly  in  a  position  to 
oppose  me.  We  will  see  you  in  the  afternoon.  Wear  your 
ring. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

MOONLIGHT 

MAY  in  New  England  is  so  capable  of  bitter  winds 
which  silence  the  birds  and  shake  the  tender 
little  new  leaves,  that  May  Ca'line  in  her  happy  excite 
ment  over  the  telegram  was  jubilant  that  this  particular 
day,  the  climax  of  all  the  days  she  had  ever  known,  was 
genial  and  balmy. 

"Fine  growin'  weather,"  Thomas  called  it.  She  had 
succeeded  in  holding  him,  up  to  now,  and  in  this  Nora 
was  no  mean  assistant. 

Nora  all  winter  had  been  most  discreet  and  saw  no 
deeper  into  a  millstone  than  she  was  asked  to.  This 
morning  when  the  night  letter  arrived  at  ten-thirty  by 
means  of  a  deliberate  bicycle  —  it  was  astonishing  how 
that  boy  could  stick  on,  yet  ride  so  slowly  —  May 
Ca'line  allowed  her  maid  to  have  a  more  satisfactory 
glimpse  of  the  truth. 

"Mr.  Laird  is  coming  this  afternoon,"  she  exclaimed, 
when  she  opened  the  telegram,  and  Nora  believed  she 
was  going  to  hug  her. 

"Oh,  't  is  glad  I  am.  Ye '11  not  be  so  lonely,  mum." 
The  girl  regarded  her  mistress  admiringly.  She  was  very 
proud  of  May  Ca'line  and  her  pretty  clothes  and  the 
beautifying  which  the  magician  Happiness  had  wrought. 

"He  is  coming  this  afternoon,  and  Mr.  Breed,  too, 
and  no  doubt  Miss  Breed.  I  want  you  to  keep  the  chil 
dren  away  until  we've  had  a  chance  to  talk  —  you 
know  how  we  want  to  hear  all  Mr.  Laird's  Western 


336  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

experiences."  May  Ca'line's  eyes  called  upon  Nora  to 
believe  this,  and  the  faithful  one  nodded  her  head  de 
voutly.  "Take  them  to  the  movie.  I  don't  know  what 
the  play  is  and  you  must  n't  tell  me  because  it  might 
hurt  my  conscience  and  I  can't  have  my  conscience 
hurt  to-day.  Then  take  them  to  get  ice-cream.  I'll 
dress  them  in  their  best  and  we'll  get  supper  nearly 
ready  this  morning.  You  will  be  home  in  time  to  do 
the  hot  things.  I'm  going  to  show  you  something, 
Nora." 

May  Ca'line  put  her  hand  in  her  blouse  and  Nora 
blinked  as  the  gems  suddenly  flashed  before  her  eyes. 

"For  the  love  o'  the  saints!"  exclaimed  the  girl, 
staring,  as  May  Ca'line  slipped  the  ring  on  her  finger. 
Hitherto  the  night  watches  alone  and  the  flare  of  the 
gas-jet  had  beheld  that  ornament  on  her  hand. 

"Air  them  reel,  mum?" 

"  I  think  they  are.   It  was  a  present  to  me,  Nora." 

"It  must  'a'  been  a  king  gave  it,  thin." 

"Yes,  a  king,"  replied  May  Ca'line  slowly,  her  gaze 
resting  on  the  vivid  scintillations. 

"Ye  make  me  cry,  mum,"  whimpered  the  girl,  twist 
ing  her  nose  as  it  tingled;  "ye  deserve  it  so  well,  and  it's 
the  pretty  hand  ye  have." 

"  I  'm  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world,  Nora.  Some 
time  we  '11  talk  about  it.  Now  we  must  make  the  salad 
dressing." 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  dressed  in  her  prettiest,  May 
Ca'line  walked  up  and  down  the  lawn.  Had  Joe  really 
won  his  heart's  desire?  It  seemed  incredible  to  have  it 
come  so  suddenly;  but  as  soon  as  she  saw  him  she  knew. 

Mr.  Breed  had  evidently  given  a  direction  to  the 
chauffeur,  for  as  soon  as  the  three  had  jumped  to  the 


MOONLIGHT  337 

ground  and  surrounded  their  hostess,  that  car  turned 
and  drove  away  with  a  celerity  which  caused  excited 
discussion  among  the  poultry  of  the  neighborhood  for 
hours  afterward. 

It  was  so  characteristic  of  May  Ca'line  that  as  soon  as 
she  caught  a  full  view  of  the  radiance  in  Vivian's  face 
she  forgot  her  own  affair  in  that  of  her  children.  She 
managed  to  keep  hold  of  the  girl's  hand  even  while  she 
vanished  into  her  big  boy's  arms.  Then  she  stood  off* 
and  could  not  get  enough  of  gazing  at  him.  She  had 
never  before  known  what  Joe  could  look  like  when  he 
was  happy. 

"My  own  little  girl,"  she  said  to  Vivian,  bathing 
her  in  the  love-light  from  her  eyes,  "  I  have  n't  any 
words." 

"My  own  little  Cherie,"  returned  the  girl  as  ten 
derly.  "To  think  we  have  secured  you  for  our  own, 
daddy  and  I.  There'll  be  no  *  in-laws'  in  our  group.  It 
will  all  be  'in-loves,'  won't  it?" 

Joe  held  his  mother's  hand  and  gazed  at  the  superb 
emerald  it  wore,  then  at  her  questioning,  happy  eyes. 
He  lifted  the  hand,  and  lowering  his  head  kissed  the 
ring  with  a  long  pressure. 

The  arrival  of  the  twins  relieved  a  tense  situation, 
too  full  for  words.  There  were  no  rompers  to-day.  Ella 
in  her  white  smocked  frock  and  Bob  in  his  best  white 
suit,  both  children  noticeably  grown  and  with  manners 
that  the  year  had  softened  and  changed,  surprised  their 
daddy  delightfully,  as  his  mother  had  hoped  they  would. 

Ella  embraced  him  with  joy,  but  entire  self-possession. 
Bob  alone  had  to  choke  a  little  weep  against  the  lapel 
of  his  father's  coat. 

Adam  Breed,  who  had  stood  watching  all  these  ebul- 


338  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

litions  of  affection,  now  took  his  turn  at  the  hand  that 
wore  the  emerald  ring.  "Come,"  he  said,  "they  are  not 
our  kiddies.  Let  us  go  over  yonder  and  see  Thomas." 

Joe  greeted  Nora,  who  then  hastened  away  to  her 
kitchen,  her  brain  reeling  with  romantic  dreams,  and 
he  and  Vivian  yielded  to  the  urging  of  the  children  to 
come  and  see  their  garden  by  the  brook.  When  this 
had  been  sufficiently  admired,  the  two  sat  down  on  the 
rustic  bench  and  the  children  climbed  into  their  laps. 
Laddie,  whom  Nora  had  released  from  the  shed,  raced 
down  the  green  and  threw  himself,  panting,  on  the 
grass  beside  them. 

"Hello,  old  fellow,"  said  Joe,  patting  him.  "Rose 
Ledge  seems  to  have  moved  over  Leacock  way." 

"He  has  to  be  shut  up  because  he  hunts  for  us,"  ex 
plained  Ella,  who  had  fallen  to  Vivian's  share. 

She  touched  a  slender  chain  around  the  girl's  throat. 
It  had  tiny  pearl  pendants  at  intervals.  "I  should  like 
to  have  one  like  that  when  I  grow  up,"  she  said. 

"Very  likely  you  will,  then,"  returned  Vivian. 
"  Should  you  like  to  come  and  live  with  me,  both  of  you  ? " 

"We  can't,"  said  Bob.  "We  get  our  feet  on  the  fur 
niture." 

"Oh,  you'll  soon  be  too  big  for  that.  Don't  you  think 
you  would  like  to  come?" 

"Not  without  daddy,"  said  Ella. 

"Ask  him  if  we  can't  all  three  come  and  live  with 
him,  then.  That  would  be  still  better." 

Joe  put  his  arm  around  the  girl  and  drew  the  little 
group  of  four  close  together. 

"Have  you  learned  any  more  stories  since  Christ 
mas?"  asked  Ella,  not  wishing  to  drive  too  easy  a 
bargain. 


MOONLIGHT  339 

"I  think  I  might  find  another  one  in  my  head  if  I 
hunted."  Vivian  met  Joe's  eyes  laughingly.  "I'll  turn 
myself  into  a  second  Scheherazade  and  tell  them  one 
thousand  and  one  nights  if  that  is  necessary  to  win 
them,"  she  said,  and  to  the  twins'  astonishment  this 
statement  was  followed  by  a  spontaneous  meeting  of 
the  lovers'  lips. 

Ella  watched  the  action  with  wide  eyes.  The  twins 
had  not  been  to  a  country  school  all  winter  without 
attaining  some  worldly  wisdom. 

Bob,  gazing  in  wonder,  asked  a  question,  hesitating 
and  stammering  a  little  in  his  thirst  for  information. 
"Daddy,"  he  said,  "is  —  is  Miss  Vivian  your  —  your 
beau?" 

The  children  had  supper  with  the  family,  and  a  romp 
with  daddy,  and  Vivian,  and  Laddie,  and  a  ball  after 
ward.  When  the  long  spring  evening  came  to  a  close 
the  twins  were  tucked  in  their  beds,  and  Vivian,  her 
hand  in  Joe's,  told  them  the  first  of  their  thousand  and 
one  tales.  Then  the  lovers  left  them  to  their  dreams  and 
went  downstairs  into  the  moonlight.  They  passed  the 
others  on  the  porch,  where  Adam  Breed  was  smoking. 

"I'm  going  to  show  Joe  my  knoll,"  said  Vivian,  and 
they  went  down  the  steps  and  out  to  the  quiet  country 
road.  "The  knoll,"  she  added,  "where  I  wrote  you  that 
letter  that  you  never  answered." 

Da  capo,  ad  libitum,  ad  infinitum. 

Adam  Breed  and  May  Ca'line  watched  their  depart 
ing  figures. 

"What  a  wonderful  night,"  he  said.  "I  believe  this 
freakish  month  is  trying  to  do  honor  to  its  namesake. 
Let  us  walk  a  bit." 


340  HEARTS'  HAVEN 

The  leafing  elm  branches  threw  very  respectable 
shadows  across  the  sward,  and  the  two  moved  through 
them  and  stood  near  where  Thomas  had  been  training 
ramblers  over  a  lattice. 

"Those  roses  are  very  promising,"  said  May  Ca'line. 

"But  what  is  that  to  you,  my  dear?"  inquired  her 
companion,  holding  his  cigar  between  two  fingers. 

"A  very  great  deal.  I  love  them.  Flowers  always 
grow  for  me,  too,  Adam.  I  must  boast  of  that  a  little." 

"Yes.  I  foresee  that  you  and  your  gardener  are  going 
to  have  a  great  time." 

"We  do  now.  I  consider  Thomas  absolutely  a 
friend." 

"A  fig  for  Thomas!  You  surely  don't  think  it  would 
be  fitting  for  us  to  force  ourselves  any  longer  into 
another  man's  home?  We  are  going  to  be  married  in 
a  week  or  two,  run  out  to  California  if  you  wish,  or  else 
go  right  to  Rose  Ledge." 

May  Ca'line  would  have  clasped  her  hands  together, 
but  her  companion  took  them  both.  "You  think  of  such 
wonderful  things,"  she  said,  "but  remember  I  have 
those  two  dear  little  anchors  to  hold  me  until  their 
father  can  take  them." 

"That's  easy,"  returned  Adam  Breed  carelessly. 
"Vivian  can  care  for  them  at  Rose  Ledge  and  learn 
how  to  be  a  good  stepmother." 

"Don't  say  that  word,  dear,"  rejoined  May  Ca'line 
quickly.  "Stepmothers  are  so  often  real  mothers  that 
they  deserve  the  sweeter  name.  Vivian  is  lovely  with 
the  children.  I  think  she  really  likes  them.  I've  been 
watching  her  to-day.  How  happy  I  am  for  Joe!" 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  the  other,  "she  would  love  his 
children  if  they  were  monsters." 


MOONLIGHT  341 

"And  they're  such  darlings,  Adam." 

"Are  they?  Well,  perhaps  they  are.  I'll  give  them 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt  if  you  don't  let  them  keep  you 
away  from  me." 

"No,  dear,  I'm  sure  we  can  arrange  it,  but  what  about 
this  lovely  place?  Does  Joe  hope  he  can  marry  soon? 
Even  if  he  did,  he  could  n't  stay  out  here  away  from 
business." 

"No,  but  I  think  they  will  be  here  a  good  deal.  I 
know  Vivian.  She  will  like  her  own  place,  especially 
on  account  of  the  children,  and  Joe  can  come  week-ends 
as  long  as  they  stay." 

"But,  meanwhile,  Adam.  How  can  we  shut  up  this 
lovely  home  and  leave  it?" 

"With  a  caretaker,  of  course." 

"But  that  will  be  a  great  expense,"  she  protested 
timidly. 

He  laughed  a  little  and  drew  her  to  him.  "Oh,  May, 
oh,  Cherie,"  he  said,  "don't  you  worry  about  that. 
Who  shall  we  get?  I  suppose  you  will  want  Nora  to  go 
with  the  children." 

"Why,  Adam,"  —  May  Ca'line  spoke  with  bated 
breath,  —  "she  has  n't  told  me  so,  but  I  think  —  I'm 
almost  certain  that  Thomas  wants  to  marry  Nora." 

Adam  Breed's  laugh  rang  through  the  moonlight. 
"What  have  we  in  this  place?"  he  asked.  "Is  it  a  matri 
monial  bureau?  Well,  there  you  are,  you  see.  If  they 
marry  there  are  your  caretakers." 

"That  would  be  good,"  responded  May  Ca'line 
thoughtfully.  "Thomas  would  keep  everything  in 
lovely  order." 

"That's  enough  of  the  practical  for  this  poetical 
evening,"  said  her  companion.  "Let  us  go  down  to  the 


342  HEARTS9  HAVEN 

brook  and  see  if  there  are  any  fireflies  out  so  early  in 
the  season." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  and  they  strolled  down 
across  the  close-clipped  grass  to  where  the  babble  of  the 
brook,  increased  to  a  rapid  by  the  spring  rains,  came 
musically  through  its  rushes. 

"This  is  a  pretty  place,"  he  said.  "Strange  we  have 
never  thought  to  give  it  a  name." 

May  Ca'line  leaned  her  head  against  his  shoulder  as 
they  walked  and  pressed  her  hand  on  the  one  about  her 
waist. 

"I  named  it  long  ago,"  she  said,  "but  I've  never 
told." 

"Tell  now,  my  dearest." 

"I  named  it  —  Hearts'  Haven." 


THE  END 


prcetf 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


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Hearts'  Haven.  H4 


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